Outrageous Fortune
by xxStarBrightxx
Summary: "We'd kinda drift together, extra pieces from sets that tossed us aside, forming our own set outta convenience. At a pep rally, he'd sit down next to me and I'd smile, and we'd watch it together while Stan-and-Kyle bickered with Eric and the girls chattered and the goths smoked and everybody did what they did in their sets." Butters always wanted someone to make happy.
1. A Set

To tell you the truth, I never used to think too much about Kenny. See, Eric and the other fellas used to hang out with me sometimes. Sometimes they could be really friendly to me, sometimes really mean, too. Eric would get me into all sorts of trouble. And Stan and Kyle were always havin' these big adventures and kinda steam blowin' through everybody else on the way. I guess that's just how kids can get. Nobody's perfect in the third grade. No matter what, though, those boys made an impression.

But Kenny was a bit different. He'd tag along on those adventures, sure, but he was never really a part of the group. Just kind of _there. _He never really said nothin', and he had a habit of just kinda wanderin' off whenever he got bored.

Stan and Kyle never seemed to notice when that happened, either. It was almost like Kenny was a prop—around when ya needed him, for a bit. Mostly there 'cause you're used to _somethin'_ bein' there. Like he was just a part of their set to make an even number. I barely noticed him the first couple times we all hung out.

Then it made be wonder if it was always like that, with that group. When the four of 'em all hung out and played video games, did Kenny open up and make 'em laugh? Did he tell good stories? Or always make yummy snacks? Or just make ya feel real comfortable around him?

Why did they hang out with him?

I suppose, in all honestly, I wondered those things the most after he was gone. When Stan and Kyle and Eric all started wanting me to replace him. Boy, howdy, that sure was hard! I barely even knew Kenny, and now they wanted me to _be_ Kenny? Well that there made me purdy angry, to tell ya the truth! _Especially_ when they kicked me outta the group for not bein' _enough_ like Kenny.

Years later, I began to think about that again. Now, knowin' what I know, it makes me even angrier. I know people grieve in different ways and whatnot, but those fellas didn't even care that Kenny was gone! They just wanted their fourth again (_their _fourth specifically: gutsy, crude and entertaining). They weren't sad about Kenny, just missin' that prop and not content with me as a stand in.

After Kenny came back, I started watchin' more closely. I started tryin' to find out what it was about Kenny that those fellas were all concerned about. When I finally did, I realized why I was their first pick for a replacement. Kenny did more than just tag along—he did whatever those guys told him to! Now, I've always been a pushover, so I can see why they thought I'd be a good substitute, but that wasn't all. He'd push back. So after all this time I realized what they wanted was some spunky, belligerent, tough puppy to follow them into the line of fire! Well, no sir, I was havin' none of that!

It was around fourth grade when I figured something else out about Kenny. He was super eager to please. I think I know why, too. Me, I always wanna make people happy, so I try to do as I'm told. Kenny wanted someone _to_ make happy. He tried so gall-darn hard to try to make Stan and Kyle—and even Eric—happy because he was lonely. Stan and Kyle always had each other. They were somethin' like super duper best friends. And Eric had himself. I know—boy, do I know!—that Eric ain't really a super duper best friend to anyone, no matter how happy you try to make him. Tryin' to be Eric's friend can make a guy feel purdy lonely.

Kenny looked really lonely with his eyes all red and face stained with cat pee and I tried to hand him coffee. And he looked real lonely all dressed in black and tryin' like heck to convince his friends that his powers _are_ real. I felt really lonely, too, behind bars and hopin' I could convince my friends that I really needed to get out from behind those bars. Kenny didn't even realize that, well, I mighta thought he was crazy at the time, but if he'd tried to convince me, I mighta listened. He didn't realize that I coulda been someone he tried to make happy. 'Cause I'da been right there, tryin' to make him happy back.

It wasn't too long after that that I started gettin' really sore at everyone. 'Cause of how everything was so easy for the Ben Afflecks, and the Stan-and-Kyles of the world. They all got to be the stars of their own lives, not like me and Kenny. We always got tossed off to the side and forgotten while the show went on for the protagonists. Even as a villain, I rarely got a lead role. And then I said some really mean things to everyone. Stan-and-Kyle and Eric, and stupid Scott Malkinson! Kenny was to only one with any sense of decency, I told 'em.

I wanted to tell them that he was the only one who knew.

After goin' to Hawaii together, I had whatcha call an "epiphany". The whole time we were there, he was tryin' to make _me_ happy. And yeah, he was still writin' to the others back home, makin' them happy, but for once, he was tryin to help me out too. So I started thinkin', and I decided that if no one else would be our super duper best friends, Kenny and I might as well work on makin' each other happy as we could.

So we started spendin' more time together. A little at first, then more frequently. Like every time we were in a big group, we'd kinda drift together, extra pieces from sets that tossed us aside, forming our own set outta convenience. At a pep rally, he'd sit down next to me and I'd smile, and we'd watch it together while Stan-and-Kyle bickered with Eric and the girls chattered and the goths smoked and everybody did what they did in their sets. Even if he didn't talk much, I knew he was feelin' purdy good about finally bein' included. I know I sure was.

Then about the time we started middle school, things started changin'. Kenny always had a thing for the girls. He would carry around dirty magazines and flirt with the other team's cheerleaders at basketball games and hung around Tammy Warner all the time (she always made me nervous, I couldn't help but worry she'd hurt him one day). Once everybody started hittin' puberty, Kenny was quick to get friendly with the girls that were feelin' a little down about their bodies. He stopped wearin' that hood over his face, and he got real animated and happy, all smiles and winks. From what I heard (from Red and the other girls, Kenny never was one to kiss 'n' tell), he was quite a smooth talker. He never really dated anyone for too long, but all the girls loved him, even sayin' years later he was one of the best boyfriends they ever had, always nice and gentlemanly, not to mention very _generous_ in other departments (I didn't like to hear about that stuff, but girls always liked to talk about it for some reason). Wendy was the only girl who never really liked Kenny, and I'm not sure why. I even asked her about it, but all she ever said was that Kenny was makin' a spectacle of himself, "and that's not entirely becoming." Kenny said she was just a bitter ol' prude who got jealous of anyone who had the balls to go out and get what they wanted regardless of what people might start sayin'. Wendy was purdy preoccupied with what people thought of her.

Anyway, after all of that started to happen, Kenny wasn't really hanging around me anymore. We'd never been really close or nothin', but I was sad, on accounta I considered him to be my best friend. For a couple years there, I didn't have nobody to sit next to during pep rallies or anything. I had my other friends, like Eric and Clyde and Tweek and all of them, but they weren't the same as Kenny. I thought Kenny and I had, well, somethin' special. But I guess I musta been wrong.

Then, outta the blue, Kenny disappeared again. This was about the tail end of ninth grade, when Tammy Warner moved to Florida with her family and Kenny got real sad. He musta really liked her, to be so broken up about her leavin'. I knew she would break his heart, and seein' him shrink quietly back into his hood, lookin' like that ol' prop again, made me real sore. Partly 'cause, well, he never looked that sad when it was me that wasn't around.

He was gone for about five months. I remember bein' real nervous, cause he hadn't been gone that long since he went away for a while in the fourth grade. And just before he left, he'd gotten real sick, too. He had this disease, with a really long name that I don't remember. He got skinny, all bones and grey skin.

It was real scary.

Then he was gone. And I missed the other piece of my set.

**Author's Note: First of all, thank you for reading! I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this story, but I have a few ideas. This is kind of a prologue for the main story; so let me know what you all think of the style so far **


	2. Little Talks

"Why the _fuck_ would you wanna invite _Kinny_?" Cartman scowled as I handed the little card to the boy to my right.

"Shut up, fatass," Kyle muttered tiredly, not lookin' up from his sandwich.

"'Cause he's my friend, and I want him there," I said. At least, I still considered Kenny my friend, even if we hadn't really talked in almost a year. Not since what Cartman called "Kenny's little bender". I didn't really know what that meant, but I didn't care. Kenny was back now, and even if things were shaky, I still missed my friend, and I would do anything to get him back.

Kenny ended up being the only one to show up to my birthday party. Not that I minded, much. It gave us some time to catch up, and boy, I really did wanna catch up with Kenny. I was doin' most of the catchin' up, tellin' Kenny about my classes, about joinin' the drama club and bein' in the ensemble, about my parents' trip to Hawaii and our new puppy. I talked about anything and everything—accept the phone call. No sir, I hadn't told a soul about that, I kept it tight to my chest like a firefly that might get away if I wasn't too careful.

Kenny listened real well, laughin' when I told him about Cartman fallin' into Stark's Pond that one time over the summer and puttin' a hand on my shoulder when I mentioned how much I missed my parents when they went away. He didn't say much, but I could tell he was catchin' up too. He'd pull his hood down a little bit—not off, just enough to make his voice clear—and I'd catch a glimpse of that whimsical smile I used to see when we were kids. Kenny is an old soul, I remember thinkin'. He's got an old, time-weathered, world-weary heart. It was a sad sight on a sixteen-year-old's face.

When we settled in for the night, my mom turnin' off the lights and remindin' us to keep quiet, Kenny finally pulled his hood completely down. The dim light from the street lamps flickered off his piercings. I counted them: two on his right eye brow, one lip ring on the left-hand side, and three in each ear.

"I missed you last year, Kenny," I mumbled, kinda hoping he wouldn't hear. I wasn't sure if I was s'posed to bring that up or not.

"Do you ever think about death?" he asked suddenly.

"Umm…" I didn't really know how to respond to that strange question. "I s'pose so…I mean, my grandma died a couple years ago, and I guess it was sad." It wasn't, really, cause she'd been an awful, awful woman that poked forks in her grandson's thigh at the dinner table and called him names and did all sorts of mean things, but I didn't want to talk about that right now.

"I do," he said, like he hadn't even heard my answer. "I wonder about the choice we have in it all, ya know? Like, so many people die everyday from horrible diseases and stuff, and then there's other people who just fucking off themselves like it's nothing. But no one really chooses when they die, or how they die, or if they die at all. It's like that one thing from _Hamlet_, ya know that "To be or not to be" thing?" I was a little shocked that Kenny remembered that soliloquy. He usually slept in English class.

I pulled my book outta my backpack and flipped to the dog-eared page. I read that passage a lot myself. Something about it sent a chill up my spine, and I couldn't quite place it. Somehow, it always reminded me of that time when Kenny was in the hospital before he disappeared, but I couldn't figure out why.

"_To be, or not to be: that is the question:_

_Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer_

_The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,_

_Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,_

_And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;_

_No more; and by a sleep to say we end_

_The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks_

_That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation_

_Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;_

_To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;_

_For in that sleep of death what dreams may come_

_When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,_

_Must give us pause: there's the respect_

_That makes calamity of so long life;_

_For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,_

_The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,_

_The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,_

_The insolence of office and the spurns_

_That patient merit of the unworthy takes,_

_When he himself might his quietus make_

_With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,_

_To grunt and sweat under a weary life,_

_But that the dread of something after death,_

_The undiscover'd country from whose bourn_

_No traveller returns, puzzles the will_

_And makes us rather bear those ills we have_

_Than fly to others that we know not of?_

_Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;_

_And thus the native hue of resolution_

_Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,_

_And enterprises of great pith and moment_

_With this regard their currents turn awry,_

_And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!_

_The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons_

_Be all my sins remember'd."_

I had a little bit of trouble readin' that whole thing aloud, but I was a bit proud of myself when I finished, to tell you the truth. I frowned. "I'm not real sure what he means by that."

"He's saying that people go on suffering in life, and don't always just themselves because they don't know what happens when they die, and it scares them." He turned over, so I couldn't really see his face anymore. "_Outrageous fortune_," he chuckled. "You and I have both had some pretty outrageous fortune, haven't we?"

"I s'pose we have, Ken," I said, not really knowing what he meant by that.

I was startin' to feel real sleepy then, and my eyes started to shut just as I heard Kenny mutter, "What they really don't know, is that they don't have a choice either way."

xxx

"We don't _actually_ have to do anything in here, you know." I forced myself to look up from my nervous knuckles bumpin' against each other. The air in the Bebe's closet was musty, makin' it hard to breath. 'Course I was already havin' a hard time doin' that with Kenny being so close and all.

"W-what do you mean?" He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"There's a reason the door's _closed_, Butters." My tummy did a little fluttery dance when he said my name. "It's supposed to be private. We can just talk or something."

"Talkin' sounds nice," I mumbled. It did sound nice, actually. I hadn't really talked to Kenny in a long time, and, well, I kinda missed him, to tell you the truth.

"Alright." He shrugged and slid down the wall, sittin' cross-legged across from me. I decided to mimic him. "According to my watch, we got about six minutes left in this session, what would you like to talk about?" He flashed a bright, sincere smile.

"W-well, I-I dunno…" Kenny put a hand on my knee and my heart did that fluttery thing again.

"Butters, calm the fuck down. What're you all nervous about, anyway? It's me, for God's sake."

"Well, I'm nervous about a lot of things, I suppose." And just like that, it all came a gushin' out. "I'm so gall-darn nervous about everything. I'm nervous a-about the SATs comin' up, and rehearsals, and school. I'm nervous about my parents groundin' me for bein' at this stupid party tonight! A-and I'm a bit nervous about bein' the only guy in our class who hasn't popped, popped his cherry yet!" I jerked a thumb toward the closet door at that one. That was the reason we were in here after all, a game of truth or dare that ended in Red askin' who I lost my virginity too, and me havin' so say, well, no one, 'cause I hadn't lost it yet, and then Bebe was so drunk she joked that Kenny should do it on accounta him bein' the one who took just about all the girl's virginities, and everybody else bein' so drunk they agreed and shoved us in the closet for "Seven Minutes in Heaven."

It was like that whole Sally thing all over again.

I was blushin' somethin' awful, talkin' about this with ol' Kenny. I'm sure he didn't really know what it was like, and he probably thought I was just pathetic. Poor, stupid little Butters, ain't even popped his cherry yet.

"I don't think you're pathetic," he said quietly, lookin' concerned.

"W-what?" I hadn't even realized I'd said all that out loud. Darn it, I gotta learn to behave myself, before I let something real serious slip! Like the fact that I may have been a virgin, but I'd done a few things with one person, none of which I'd be discussin' with Kenny, much less the gossipy girls outside, thank you very much.

"I don't think you're pathetic because you're a virgin." He looked dead serious. "You're seventeen, for Christ sakes, you've got fucking time. And if you think all those motherfuckers out there are getting laid all the time, you got another thing coming! Seriously, you really think fucking _Cartman_ actually got a girl to agree to have sex with him? And I know for a _fact_ Kyle's never been past second base! You're the only one with the balls to admit it."

I was stunned. "You mean it, Ken?"

"It's the fucking truth!" He rolled his eyes. "They can all be such assholes sometimes. You know, and they take it out on you because they know you'll just smile and take it. Fuck, Butters, you deserve better than that."

I just blinked. It was the first time I'd ever heard anything like that from Kenny. It made my heart ache a little bit. "You deserve better too, Kenny."

"What?"

"They're assholes to you too! A-and it pisses me off!" He looked shocked at my sudden outrage. "They're always pushin' you around, a-and it makes me sick! They don't deserve you!"

"Butters, I don't—"

"N-no, you listen here, mister! You should have friends who listen to you and care about you and don't just make you do their dirty work! You're a good guy, Kenny, the best of 'em!" I was pointin' a finger at him, and I didn't realize how close it was to his face 'til he grabbed it with his hand. He brought my hand down to his side and didn't let go.

"Look who's callin' the kettle black," he muttered. He sounded a little amused. "I like it when you get all worked up. Reminds me why I hang out with you."

Before I could say anything, light flooded the small room and Bebe's slurred voice shouted, "Time's up!"


	3. Pretending in the Nonfiction Section

**Author's Note: This chapter contains more adult themes than the previous ones (no lemon or anything, mostly just some very graphic language, but it**_** is**_** South Park so…*shrugs*). Expect this to be the tip of the iceberg in that department, with later chapters getting darker and more graphic. I'm keeping the T rating for now, but we'll see…**

**Also, thank you to everyone for sticking with this story. The last chapter was posted very late at night with not enough proofreading, so I wasn't too happy with the final product, particularly with continuity and flow. I have a more concrete direction for this fic now, so hopefully there'll be some improvement in the quality of future chapters. **

My virginity became a topic of real intense scrutiny over then next couple 'a days. Not sure why, I guess people are just interested in that sort of thing—sex sort of thing, I mean. Well, anyway, Heidi was tellin' anybody who'd listen that Kenny totally hooked up with Butters motherfucking Stotch at Bebe's party, and Bebe swore she heard me cry when it happened. Wendy gave me funny looks all day and Eric wouldn't stop laughin' no matter how much I kept tellin' him and everybody else it wasn't true.

"You know, the only thing that surprises me," he said, clutchin' at his big ol' tummy. "Is that this must mean _Kinny_ is a fucking queermo! I mean—" he paused to wipe a tear from his eye "—I mean, we always knew Butters was a raging fag, but _Kinny_ is the biggest man-whore—no, wait, it does make sense! Kinny musta ran outta girls in South Park, so he decided to go for the next best thing: Butters!" Eric slammed his fist on his desk, he was laughin' so hard.

"What do you mean "Butters is the next best thing"?" Wendy asked, soundin' cross as she turned around in her desk. Stan chuckled into his hand (this was back when the two 'a them were still together). I just wanted to disappear into the floor, I'll tell ya. Instead, I rubbed my knuckles together 'til they nearly bled.

"Cartman, nothing fucking happened—" Kenny started to say, he voice all muffled from his jacket. Guess the thought of bein' with me musta been real repulsive, 'cause he sounded furious.

"Isn't it obvious, Wendy?" Eric sneered, ignoring Kenny. "Butters is practically a girl already! Fuck, remember when we put a dress on him when we were little? You still dress up as fucking Marjorine, homo?" he pushed my shoulder and it knocked me into the wall. I winced and rubbed my shoulder. It didn't hurt that bad, but it was embarrassing as heck.

"I-I know I can be a little girlie," I mumbled. I was tryin' to stay lighthearted and act like there wasn't a pit growin' in the middle of my stomach.

_"A little girlie?!"_ Eric guffawed, and I winced again, this time at his voice. People were turnin' around and starin' at us.

"Dude, just leave him alone, the joke's gotten kinda old," Stan said.

"Dude! It's not a joke—look at him! Butters is a fucking talking vagina!"

"Just stop, fatass!" Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "I'm trying to actually pay attention." He waved at the front of the class where our history teacher rattled on, not carin' about our little spat in the back of the room.

"Suck my balls, you stupid Jew!"

"Shut the fuck up, fatass!"

"Yeah, maybe I'll just get Butters to do it instead—you'd actually like that, wouldn't you, you fucking twink?"

I tried to ignore that. "It's alright, fellas," I said, tryin' to placate them. "Everybody knows I'm a faggot." I'd learned a long time ago that pretendin' everything was okay would get you in a whole heap less 'a trouble than fessin' up to anything. Yessir, I learned that the minute my parents came clean about my dad bein' a pervert and my mom bein' crazy.

S'pose the apple don't fall too far from the tree.

"Yeah," Eric said, still laughin' up a storm. "Butters loves it! He must take after his ball-licking father!" Speaking of.

I used to like Eric. In fact, I used to feel a little sorry for him. I knew he was only mean 'cause he was lonely, and his mom was a crack whore and he didn't have a dad and all. He certainly didn't have no Stan-and-Kyle friendship with anyone. His closest buddy was always Kenny, and bein' friendly with both of them, I knew how big 'a loners they both were.

I started really tryin' to be closer friends with Eric, tryin' to impress him, make him happy and all that. Heck, at some point, when I finally started believin' what people'd been tellin' me for years, I had to admit that I kinda had a crush on Eric. It wasn't no healthy crush, either. No, I had this weird obsession with pleasin' people, and Eric always took advantage 'a that. He's what you call a "power hungry bastard". Eric just wanted control over everything, and he'd do whatever it'd take to feel that authority.

I won't deny it—at least, not to myself, I won't—that if it hadn't been for Bradley, I probably woulda endin' up makin' a fool outta myself goin' after Eric. I probably woulda ended up in a real bad place because of it, too.

The summer Kenny disappeared, 'round late July, I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. The boy on the other end sounded nervous as all heck, and he asked me if I knew who he was.

"Bradley? You know, from, uh…from _Camp New Grace_?" He mumbled that last part; I could barely hear it.

"Oh, sure! You were my old accountibilibuddy!" I was sure glad to hear from him. It'd been years since we'd been in that camp, but I'd always wondered what ended up happening to that poor fella. He was always so nervous, and he'd nearly jumped of a bridge for Pete's sake! Boy, I'd been hopin' he ended up okay. "How've you been?"

"Oh, um, I've been alright, I guess." I could picture him chewin' on the end of a pencil, like he always did at camp. "I, uh, was wondering if you'd like to get together sometime? I'm in town for a few weeks visiting my grandma. I, uh, got your number from my file from…that place…and I just thought maybe we could, you know, catch up?"

"That sure sounds great, Bradley! I'd love to hang out!"

A few days later, we ended up gettin' a slice of pizza at Shakey's and swapin' stories about school, clubs, movies, music, and, eventually, our parents. He looked horrified when I told him about findin' my dad at _The White Swallow _all those years ago. I'm not even sure why I brought that up, Bradley was just super easy to talk to, it all started comin' out.

"So he was out having sex with dozens of men and he still set you to _New Grace_? Are you fucking kidding me?" I blinked. Now, I don't swear too much myself, but I'm purdy used to hearin' it. But Bradley never used to swear. Instead, he'd quote bible verses like a nervous tick or somethin'. He told me he had a different relationship with God now, one that permitted not only swearin', but bein' bi-curious too.

"He made me the way I am, and I just gotta accept it, not be so hard on myself. You taught me that." He smiled and touched my hand briefly. He had really thin fingers, thin just like the rest of him. "And, you know, after the whole fiasco with, you know, the bridge and whatnot…my parents, they started coming around. They sent me to a real therapist. One who wanted to help me out with my anxiety and not brainwash me."

Turns out, that therapist got Bradley really into psychology. He would read psychology textbooks for fun, sittin' with his knobby knees up to his chest in the corner of the South Park Public Library, chewin' on the end of a pencil (he called this an "oral fixation"). Then he'd try to analyze his friends and the people we saw in the nonfiction section. One time, while we were hanging out in that corner of the library, I told him about Eric, and how he'd always get me to do crazy things, and make fun of me, but how I let him do it 'cause it made him happy.

Bradley got real angry. "Butters, you're a terrific person, and I know why you want to please people. But a relationship like that isn't healthy. This guy sounds like a real piece of shit who'll just use you and never treat you right. Dating someone like that could be dangerous!"

I laughed a little and blushed. "Oh no, Eric and I aren't _datin'_, we're just friends is all!"

"Oh." His expression changed and for a second, I could see that nervous kid from pray-the-gay-away camp, with crazy, frizzy hair and circles under his eyes. "Are…are you dating anyone?" He asked quietly.

"No," I said, shrugging. "I s'pose not."

"Do you…do you like me, Butters?" he asked, even quieter this time. I had to lean in closer to hear him.

"Well, sure, Bradley! You're a real nice guy!" I smiled at him.

"No, Butters," he looked down and took my hand. "Do you like me enough to, you know, date…me?"

I remember feelin' a lot of things right then. I was feelin' real confused, first of all, not to mention shocked and even a little scared. But I also felt this strange sense of sadness and loss. To this day, I have no idea why, but I couldn't help but feel like this was it, my only chance to be with _someone_ and make them happy.

Because the someone I _wanted_ to make happy was gone.

"I give him, two, maybe three years until he's takin' it up the ass in some gross bathhouse while a big black guy shoots spunk down his fucking throat!" Eric's voice cut into my thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. My knuckles turned white. Power hungry bastard, Bradley'd said, a sadistic asshole. Bradley was never some random guy at a bathhouse. He was my first boyfriend, and it was over now, sure, fizzled out after he left his grandma's house and went back to his fancy private school in the fall. But that was still somethin' very special, believe it or not.

Eric laughed so hard his face turned red. I saw Kenny stand outta the corner 'a my eye, but I beat him to it. Two seconds later and Eric was on the floor clutchin' his bloody nose while I stood above him, fist raised.

**Author's Note: A big thank you to my reviewers! I'm always very grateful for feedback and I'm so glad you're enjoying this story so far! This fic is like nothing I've ever written before: it includes a lot of my own head cannons, a very specific narration style, and some darker themes (those are mostly to come in later chapters) so any and all comments, critics, etc. are very welcome and appreciated! **

**Thank you!**


	4. Keepsakes

**Author's Note: Here's a bit of sugary fluff to satisfy your sweet tooth A touch shorter than the other chapters, but the next one is going to be much more intense so I figured I'd space it out.**

One day, several years later, Kenny found the shoebox under my bed.

"What is this?" he asked, crouchin' down to pull it out from under the bed. He raised a pierced eyebrow at the glitter and stickers that decorated the lid. I just shrugged.

"They're keepsakes," I said, a little embarrassed. I know it's real girlie and lame to keep a shoebox full 'a your ex's mementos under your bed, but I liked having then. I'm a sentimental fella. "I know it's stupid, but, I like to remember the good stuff." He opened the box and pulled out a library card. It was faded and bent in one corner. He pulled out a movie ticket stub, a pressed daisy, and some loose leaf with faded scribbled handwriting. Over his shoulder I could read:

_"2:32 pm August 28__th_

_ Woman arguing with her friend re. child-rearing books_

_ Woman A favors authoritarian parenting, B is passive_

_Also, there's a cute boy sitting next to me "_

The last line was written much neater than the rest, in a different style of handwriting altogether.

A single birthday card rested on the bottom of the box. Kenny picked it up and flipped it open, but I didn't need to read it over his shoulder to know what it said. "_Stay terrific_," Kenny muttered, frownin'. "_Yours, Bradley." _ He looked up at me and pouted. "You still talk to that guy?"

"That was a card from my_ sixteenth_ birthday, Ken," I laughed. "I haven't talked to ol' Bradley in years!" He was fumin', chewin' on his lip and playin' with a loose thread on his boxers. His eyebrows pinched together as he tossed everything back into the shoebox. "Hey, be careful!" I grabbed the loose leaf, smoothed it over my knee and placed it back in the box gently. Kenny got up and started pacin' as I put everything back under my bed.

"I don't get it," he said, starin' at me. "Why does _he _get a fucking bedazzled box?"

I blinked. "Are…are you _jealous_, Ken?" I smiled at the thought of Kenny bein' jealous of _Bradley_. The idea almost made me laugh! "It's just some keepsakes, you know, like a scrapbook."

"What about my shoebox then?" he snapped. "You've got one for precious _Bradley_, what about me?"

This time I did laugh. "Well, why would I need a box for you, Kenny? Your keepsakes are all over!" I gestured 'round the room. "That jacket you let me borrow is in my dresser, I got your toothbrush in the bathroom, the flowers you gave me in the kitchen, that DVD box set of Terrence and Philip you gave me for Christmas is on my desk." I took his hand and smiled at him. "I got about a thousand pictures of the two of us all over this place, and you want a little shoebox? Kenny, that box is full of memories, but it's shut and tucked under the bed for a reason. Sure, I got a bit of a soft spot for Bradley—he was a big part 'a figuring out who I am. But that's all over now. And let me tell you, mister—you've been the biggest part 'a becomin' who I am now, who I wanna be. After all we've been through…" He squeezed my hand and I shook my head playfully. "You sure can be real silly, sometimes!"

"I guess so." He smiled and led me to the kitchen so we could make some pancakes.

xxx

A week of suspension, coupled with bein' grounded for a month with extra chores and no cellphone, no TV, no computer (except to use for school work, while my dad watched over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't goin' on Facebook or nothin') and absolutely no complainin'. Not that I would be complainin' anyway. It was hardly the most trouble I'd ever been in, and I figured I probably deserved it. Even if Eric did say some awful mean things, that's just what he did. I'm not sure why I snapped like that, to tell you the truth. It wasn't nothin' Eric hasn't said before. I didn't even bother to tell my parents what he said, no use opening up old wounds.

It was just something about the way Eric just kept on laughin' while I could hear Kenny grittin' his teeth and see Bradley's expression in my head when I'd told him that Eric was the one who got me sent to Camp New Grace in the first place and he'd asked me why I put up with Eric at all. "You taught me to accept myself, so why do you let him treat you like shit? Are you ashamed?" And I just got so confused and frustrated and it all boiled over.

I gotta learn to behave myself.

At least one good thing came out 'a me being suspended and grounded and all: I got to skip the part where Eric walked around school with a bruised nose and a smirk, actin' like it was a battle scar, and leadin' an anti-gay rally out in front of the school where only three other students showed up (Tweek, 'cause Eric threatened to beat him up if he didn't; Clyde 'cause he thought it was a bake sale; and some senior that I'd never heard of) and Wendy got into a huge screamin' match with him. No sir, I got to study for the SATs in peace and quiet while everybody else started to get bored and move on from this drama and focus on the next thing, just like they always do in South Park. Stan and Wendy broke up again, so I was out of the limelight.

I was actually purdy relaxed, to tell you the truth, humin' a cheery tune while I vacuumed my room and waited for the next check-in call from my parents (they were out for the day, lookin' at a new hammock they wanted to bring to their condo in Hawaii then meetin' up with their friends at the bar tonight) when I noticed something stuck to my window.

I turned the vacuum cleaner off and went to investigate. It was bright green construction paper, cut in the shape of a question mark and taped to the outside of my window. When I grabbed it, I noticed some thin writing on the back.

_"Lot by the tracks_

_9pm tonight_

_ ~M"_

I stared at the note for a few minutes, weighing my options. My parents wouldn't be back 'til late, but they'd sure be sore if they noticed me gone. Then again, Kenny only ever left a note like this when he really wanted to talk about something. And boy, did I miss talkin' to Kenny.

I spent the next several hours cleanin' the house, top to bottom, until every nook and crank was sparkling, just like Mom and Dad said to. When my alarm clock read _8:37_ in bright red numbers, I grabbed my jacket, my keys, and folded up the note nice and neat to put in my pocket. I always liked to keep the things Kenny gave me. As I locked the door and set off down the street, I started gettin' this weird mixture of nervous and giddy all tumblin' in my gut. But I wasn't turnin' back.

After all, I was already grounded anyway.

**Review? Please and thank you! I love all feedback!**


	5. Beyond the Cigarette

**This one took me a little longer, not sure how I feel about it…there's a point where a story just kinda takes on it's own direction, and I just went with it. Either way, I hope you like it and welcome your feedback! Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter—it means a lot to me!**

It was a little strange to be back in this old abandoned lot after all this time. The grass was longer than I remembered, and there were more beer cans litterin' the ground than before. I sighed as I approached the rusty train tracks on the southern side. When I was little, I'd put pennies on those tracks and wait for a train to come by and flatten them while Kenny sat next to me, huffin' paint thinner out of a little paper bag and makin' dirty jokes (I always liked it when Kenny did that, 'cause when the other boys would say crude stuff, I didn't know what they were talkin' about, but Kenny always explained himself. I learned most a' what I know about that stuff from what Kenny told me when we were ten). At night I'd come by dressed up as Professor Chaos, sometimes to plot the end of the world with Dougie, sometimes to duke it out with Mysterion.

I missed those days a whole lot.

"You're early." I nearly jumped outta my skin at the sudden voice that ripped me outta my thoughts, but relaxed when I saw a figure in a familiar black hood standin' a few feet away from me. It wasn't Mysterion—those days 'a dressin' like superheroes and villains were long gone—but a blond teenager in a black jacket and dark jeans. I think sometimes, he liked to reminisce just like me.

Kenny pulled the cigarette from between his lips and tossed it to the side. He looked at me with a real strange expression, somewhere between deadly serious and slightly amused. "Sorry," I muttered, rubbin' my knuckles together. "I just got anxious waitin' to leave, so I just decided to head out early and wait for ya." His face was still stoic, but I could see his eyes smilin'. "Why di-did ya wanna see me, anyway?" I had a hard time keepin' the bitterness outta my voice. Kenny noticed, and his eyes stopped smilin'.

"Get right to the point then, huh?" He crossed his arms. "I just wanted to check on you. You know, I know how your parents are, and it's not fair 'cause Cartman was being a fucking dick in class—"

"Oh, Eric w-wasn't sayin' nothin' that he hasn't already said before." Kenny raised an eyebrow. "Nothin' _everybody_ hasn't already said before..." I muttered. I wasn't angry, I was just tellin' the truth.

"He was being a _fucking dick_," Kenny repeated, lookin' angry. "You were entirely justified—"

"Why do youcare?" I asked quietly. Again, I wasn't angry, just honestly curious. "It's not like you ever defended me or nothin', you were just pissed that everybody thought you had to ha-have sex with me—"

"What?"

"I know you've got a-a reputation and whatnot…" I noticed that I'd started rubbin' my knuckles together again. I really needed to kick that habit.

"A _reputation_?"

"Sure, I mean, you're quite the ladies man, ain't you? I'm no lady, un-unless you ask Cartman, that is." Kenny stared at me, shocked.

"Butters, I don't give two _fucks_ what people say about my goddamn sex life!"

I tilted my head to the side. "You don't? W-well, I'm sorry, Ken, I just figured you wouldn't want nobody to think you were a-a queer or somethin'…" Kenny chuckled softly.

"I _really_ don't give a fuck if people think that. _I've _never given a fuck what people think at all." He frowned. "Tell you the truth, I never thought you did either. I always knew you liked attention, because it meant that at least people were thinking about you." His voice was all gruff and serious. Not snide or nasty, just matter-of-fact. "But _this_ got to you man, and I don't know why."

I looked down at my shoes, trying to hide my blush. I knew what he meant, but I sure wasn't ready to explain myself to Kenny. I didn't even know if I could explain it to myself. He was right—normally, I wouldn't have cared what gossip was floating around about me, it just was nice to get a little warmth from the limelight every once in a while. I usually liked it to be a good thing goin' around, or at least something that I'd actually done, but the rumor about Kenny and me shouldn't have gotten to me like this. And, boy, did it get to me.

"That's why I wanted to talk to you, Butters," Kenny murmured gently. "Seriously, what's gotten into you?"

"Well, according to everyone at school, y-you did."

I'm not sure where that comment came from, but, boy, did it put the biggest smile on Kenny's face. He started laughin', and then I was laughin', and soon, we were both falling on the ground, cryin' with laughter and carryin' on like a couple of fools.

"Jesus, Butters!" Kenny said once we'd finally settled down. He was layin' on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, starin' up at the sky. "You should really stop hanging out with me—I'm apparently a horrible influence." I snorted.

"Between you and Eric and everybody else, well, I'm down right corrupted."

"But that's the thing, Butters," Kenny said wistfully. "You're not corrupted. Not one bit. It's kind of incredible." My stomach fluttered and I laughed nervously.

"Oh, now, I wouldn't say that…"

"Well, okay, you're not perfect." I could see his eyes roll. "But, Jesus, _everybody_ gets the urge to punch Cartman his fat fucking face every once in a while."

I laughed again. "Do you remember when Wendy beat him up in the fourth grade?"

Kenny smiled. "One of South Park Elementary's finest moments. I treasure the memory of his groveling tears."

"I feel a little bad that I broke his nose though."

"Don't." Kenny sat up and looked me in the eye. "Some people just need a swift punch in the face every so often. Cartman needs a swift punch in the face about as often as he eats." He paused and chuckled. "I bet that'd kill two birds with one stone, actually."

I frowned. "I thought you two were pretty good friends."

"We are."

Kenny pulled out a cigarette and lit the end with a match, cuppin' his hand to make sure the wind didn't blow out it out. I watched him quietly, thinkin' about friendship, and fightin', and bad influences, and how it all seemed to pass so quick, vanishing into thin air, just like the trail of smoke curlin' at the end of Kenny's cigarette. Our childhood memories, Cartman's nasty comments, and Bradley, all floatin' up into the sky, and nothin' could stop them from disappearin' altogether. I grabbed at the smoke with my hand, tryin' to cup the elusive flume in my fist, but it vanished through my fingers.

"What are you doing?" Kenny asked, holding his cigarette aloft, like he was scared I was gonna take it away.

"Just bein' metaphorical," I said softly, with no better way of explainin' it.

Kenny nodded like this was perfectly rational. And I think, to him, it kinda was.

I tilted my head back to look at the stars, by breath getting' all foggy in the cold air. It was actually a really beautiful night. "It's nice to be back here, isn't it?" I said, almost to myself.

"Yeah." Kenny took a drag from the end of his cigarette.

This started becomin' a regular thing. Kenny and me, hangin' out by the railroad tracks at night while my parents were out, chattin' about life and whatnot while the snow felt softly to the ground and the train whistled in the distance. Kenny would joke around and smoke his cigarettes, sometimes bringin' along a Playboy magazine or a joint for us to share. I'd laugh at his jokes and tell stories about Hawaii and the tricks I was tryin' to teach my puppy (I named him Sprinkles 'cause of his spots!), and blush at the raunchy photos of the girls in those magazines.

I'll tell you what, it was real nice, havin' Kenny back in my life.

Then one day I asked him about it.

"About what?" he asked, doggy-earing a page in his nudey magazine. The girl on the page had a real nice butt, just like Kim Kardashian used to (what can I say? I'll always have a soft spot for Kim) and a weird stain near her cleavage.

"A-about the end of ninth grade, mister," I said, crossin' my arms. "Now, I don't mean to pry, but I sure missed you when you left, a-and you never did tell me where you went. I-I s'pose it ain't none of my business, but I worried when Tammy moved away, and then you were in the hospital, and then you were just, just gone…"

He froze. "Kenny?" He wouldn't look me in the eye. He just kind of blinked and set the magazine down in front of him.

"The hospital?" He sounded kinda distant.

"Well, yeah, you were all hooked up to tubes and stuff, and you got real thin." I frowned. "I was real worried about you, mister. I thought you were never gonna get any better!"

He mumbled somethin' I couldn't hear, but brushed me off when I asked him to repeat himself. "What else do you remember?" He asked after a minute.

"What do ya mean, Kenny?"

"You said you remembered me being in the hospital, _what else do you remember?_" He sounded real angry, or scared, I couldn't tell.

"I-I don't know, you were real sick a-and then…" And then what? It got kinda fuzzy at that point. I just remember feelin' real lonely. "I don't know. You were just…gone. And, jeez, Kenny, I missed the heck outta ya."

"Well, fuck." He ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his magazine forgotten. He turned to look at me, a shadow flickerin' across his face for a second in a way that reminded me of his old Mysterion mask.

"You never answered my question." Kenny shrugged, his expression turning impassive.

"Hell." I blinked.

"Hell?"

"Hell." He chuckled and picked the Playboy up again. "I was in fucking Hell."

"Oh!" I smiled, realizing what he meant. "Well, shucks, Kenny, I spent some time in Me-HE-co when I was a kid, it wasn't that bad there!" He raised an eyebrow at me. "What were you doin' down in Me-HE-co, Ken?"

He snickered. "Getting high with the Anti-Christ."

"No need to be sarcastic, mister!" I gave him a stern look, but he just laughed and put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry I wasn't around, dude." His hand was surprisingly warm on my shoulder. "I…It was just where I ended up at the time. I can't really explain it." He had an awful sad look in his eyes. Without thinkin', I leaned over and gave him the biggest hug I could muster up.

"Don't worry about it, Kenny! You're around now, and that's what matters!" He patted my back and chuckled.

"Thanks, Butters."

But he didn't stick around. The next day, I was doodling little question marks on the side of my notes when I heard Red tellin' Wendy that her cousin's friend's neighbor said she'd seen a familiar mane of "highlighted to hell" brown hair pass by her house that morning. I dropped my pen, not carein' when it fell on the floor. I felt like I'd just been punched, right in the gut. I didn't want to believe it, but as the girls went on talkin', I had no doubt in my mind it was her they were describin'.

Tammy Warner was back in South Park.

**Reviews? Please? Kenny's giving you puppy-dog eyes, hoping you'll leave a review—you can't deny him that, can you? ;)**


	6. Control Your Poison Babe

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and thank you to everyone who's stuck with me so far! It means a whole lot! Special shout out to somethingsortof—thank you! And your English is pretty damn good, if I do say so myself!**

**Just to clarify about the timeline, since I have jumped around a bit, you all should know that most of the story is taking place in a linear fashion: Butters' birthday sleep over, Bebe's party, Butters punching Cartman in the face, the late night sessions with Kenny, all happened in that order within a few months (or less) of each other. Most of the story takes place while they are teenagers (about seventeen) with some flashbacks or forwards throughout. From now on, I'll clarify when I make a major leap. **

**There are no time-jumps in this chapter! It all takes place just where the last one left off.**

**Enjoy! **

Once the proverbial Pandora's Shoebox that was Tammy Warner was opened, there wasn't anythin' I could do to stop it. She was hangin' around Kenny everyday, like nothin' had ever changed between them. At first, he seemed a little annoyed by her company, and I thought maybe he would stick up for himself. Maybe, he would tell her to leave 'cause he ain't gettin' his heart broken again. Maybe, he would tell her that he found a new friend and he didn't need her.

But that was just wishful thinkin' on my part. Before long, those two were attached at the hip, always whisperin' together in class, all serious, walkin' every where together, and hangin' out together every night in Denver. I think that's what hurt the most. Kenny and I'd had a kind of routine, meetin' up at night, and I'd been replaced.

He didn't seem to notice me when I tried to catch his eye in class, or when I called his name in the halls, and he completely ignored my texts. He musta really wanted to avoid me. Eventually, I gave up. If he didn't wanna talk to me, I would just have to deal with it. I shoulda known it was all temporary, anyway. I was no Tammy Warner.

Still, it stung when I saw his initials scratched into a bathroom stall next to his cell number and the words: "_For a good time call._" I sighed and walked over to the mirror, takin' note of how much flabbier I was lookin' lately. So he was reachin' out to everyone, offerin' up himself and promisin' someone to turn to. To everyone but me.

"_Kenny, I got your number…_" I sang under my breath. If I'd had the balls, boy, I'd have been tempted to block my number and give him a ring. "_I need to make you mine._" But I didn't. Kenny didn't want nothin' to do with me, so I wasn't gonna bother him no more.

Well, I did some thinkin' at that point, and I figured I had two options: I could sit around and mope, or I could suck it up and find a new friend. And Butters Stotch does not mope, no sir!

"Hiya, fellas!" I said cheerfully, ploppin' down next to Stan at the lunch table.

"Umm, hey, Butters," Stan said, glancin' at Kyle.

"Oh, were you fellas in the middle a' talkin' about somethin'? I'm sorry, I'll find some where else to sit." I picked up my tray, but Stan put a hand on my shoulder.

"No! Uh, no, Butters, it's fine." Kyle raised his eyebrows at Stan, but didn't say anything. He looked a little angry.

"Well, if you're sure it's alright…" I really did want some new friends. I knew I'd never be as close to anyone as Stan-and-Kyle were with each other, but I'd take what I could get.

"Gentlemen, _Jew_." Eric strolled over, nodding at Kyle, who rolled his eyes, then sat down across from me. "I'm glad you're here, Butters," he said brusquely, foldin' his hands in front of him on the table.

"Well, gee, Eric, I'm glad I'm here, too!" This day was starting to look up, maybe makin' new friends wouldn't be so hard after all.

He smiled and leaned forward a bit. "Butters, I wanted to talk to you about something. I know we've had some…_hiccups_ in our friendship, but I've given it some thought, and I've decided that it would be best if we put the past behind us."

"Whatdya mean, Eric?" I asked, tiltin' my head.

"Butters, what I'm trying to say is, that, I forgive you." Kyle scoffed and gave his peas a flick with his fork. Eric shot him a glare before he went on. "Things were said, you nearly broke my nose…."

"Oh gee, I am sorry about that, Eric, I'm not sure what got into me…" I started bumpin' my knuckles together nervously. I really did wanna keep the friends I had, and Eric, rough 'round the edges he may be, was one of my friends.

"Water under the bridge, Butters," Eric sighed, waving a hand. "In fact, I think we should do something this weekend, to, ahh, reconnect." He flashed a smile that I returned. Look at that—plans for the weekend! Just goes to show what a positive attitude can do.

"I'd love to hang out, Eric!" I said excitedly, grinnin' ear to ear. "What'd you have in mind? We could go rollerblading on Saturday and then see a movie at night—"

"God, no! None of that gay shit!" Eric rolled his eyes, exasperated. My smile faltered. "Look, my cousin goes to U. Denver, and he's having a big party Saturday. "

_"Cartman,"_ Kyle muttered, using that warning voice parents use with kids bein' rowdy. I was familiar with that tone.

"Oh, I'm not sure how my parents would feel about a college party…"

"Just tell them you're sleeping over at my place, I'll cover for you." Eric flashed another smile.

_"Cartman."_

"You mean it? Oh, that would be great, Eric! Wow, my first college party!"

"Just be sure to dress nice, you know, this isn't one of Bebe's basement shit-shows."

_"Cartman!" _Eric glared at Kyle.

"No, _Kahl_, I'm not inviting you. But don't ruin this for Butters just because you're jealous."

"Yeah!" I said. "Don't be jealous, Kyle!" He stared at me then sighed.

_"Fine," _he grumbled, snatchin' up his tray and walkin' away. Stan gave a sad look at his half-eaten burger before followin' him.

Three days later, I found myself starin' at my reflection and wonderin' just what Eric meant by "dress nice." I knew he didn't mean no suit and tie or nothin'. I'd seen enough movies to know that that wasn't what you'd wear to a college party. So I ended up in a nice pair of fitted green jeans and a light blue t-shirt. It was a bit tight on me, but it was one of my favorites, so it would do.

Eric picked me up at nine o'clock, which was a bit late for me, considering I'd stopped hangin' out with Kenny about a month ago and slipped back into my old routine: school, chores, homework, bed. I'll tell you what though, it felt nice to be doin' somethin' a little risky and against-the-rules again. "Nice shirt," he mumbled. I couldn't tell if he meant it or not, but I thanked him anyway.

When we finally got to the party, Eric immediately shoved a drink at me. "What is this?" I asked, staring at the bright liquid.

"Vodka-cranberry," he stated, cracking open a beer for himself. "I figured you'd like it." I smiled.

"Thanks, Eric! That was really sweet of you!" He chuckled took a swig of his beer.

"Yeah…_sweet_." Eric scanned the room, and then smiled when his eye caught somethin'. "Butters, stay right here. I want to introduce you to someone."

"Sure thing, Eric!" I was a bit confused. Who would Eric want to introduce me to? Then again, the whole point of this was to make new friends, so I figured: what the heck? Why not?

I sipped at my drink while I waited. "Hmm, this is pretty good," I mused aloud. Before long, my drink was nearly gone and I was startin' to feel a pleasant buzz in my nose and belly.

"Butters!" Eric was beamin', hand clapped on the shoulder of a tall young man with white-blond hair and black-rimmed glasses. He had on a blue plaid short-sleeve button down and a pair of skinny jeans. He sure was attractive. "I want you to meet _Clay_. Clay, this is Butters."

"Well, pleased to meet you there, Clay!" I stuck out my hand and he shook it. He had a really weak grip.

"Butters! Is your drink empty?" Eric asked sweetly. "How about I get you another one?"

"Well, thank you Eric!" I handed him the empty cup and he headed into the kitchen. "So, Clay, do you go to U. Denver?" He smiled and nodded, leanin' in close to me so I could hear him over the music and the chatter around us. He prattled on and on about his theater program and the play he just auditioned for. His voice was all high and nasally. I remember thinking he sounded real gay. Still, he had a great smile, and he was bein' real nice to me.

"There you go, Butters!" Eric swooped in, passing me another vodka-cranberry.

"Thanks, Eric!" I took a sip, not noticing the foreign powder at the bottom, or the slight aftertaste. I also didn't notice Eric's smirk when he saw me take a big gulp. In fact, after a bit of chattin' with Eric and Clay, I didn't notice anything but the warmth flowin' through me and feel of Clay's hand leadin' me to the center of the room to dance. And then all I could feel was a ball of energy, intense heat and nervousness and Clay's body against mine while the music got louder and I clenched my teeth and my skin got all tingly.

All I could feel was heat, and it was amazing. It was like I'd been stuck in the middle of an iceberg my entire life, and now I was gettin' to feel sunlight for the first time. I clung to everything warm, especially Clay. I felt so close to him. Clay was my anchor and all I wanted to do was get closer. One of us, I forget who, whispered, "Let's get outta here." And he led me to his dorm room, in the building across the street. As he fumbled with his key I traced my hands all over his chest, tryin' to get as close as possible.

We tumbled inside and I quickly shut and locked the door. I didn't want no one burstin' in on us. His room was tiny, with one twin sized bed—a lot higher up than I'd expected—smushed in next to a small desk and chair. The whole room was super clean, just like the rest of him. I decided that that wouldn't do. I found my hands runnin' through his hair, messin' it up, un-tuckin' his pressed shirt and rippin' one of the buttons off. He started tearin' at my clothes too, and before I knew it, we were on a heap in his bed and he was pullin' out a condom and handin' it to me and diggin' in his drawer for a fruity scented lube. And I remember thinkin' that was real gay too.

After that, tell you the truth, things got kinda fuzzy. The vodka and whatever else was hittin' me real hard and I just have flashes of Clay's head restin' on the pillow with his hair all crazy and a sharp pain and then an explosion of heat and pleasure and ohmygod repeated over and over and then wakin' up in a strange place and wonderin' what the heck hit me.

I felt exhausted and wired all at once. Like I couldn't stop the jitters runnin' through me. And I was thirsty. I don't think I'd ever wanted water more in my whole life! I groaned and sat up, rubbin' my eyes.

"Mornin', baby." I nearly cringed hearin' Clay's voice. Did he have to be so loud? "Sleep well?"

"Umm, not really," I murmured, not ready to look him in the eye yet. There was a part of me that thought, maybe if I don't turn around, I can just imagine that his hair is a darker shade 'a blond and his teeth aren't so straight and he ain't so clean-shaven. The voice was ruinin' it for me.

"Awe, sorry to hear that, baby." He sat up next to me and kissed my shoulder. I didn't move. He slid out of the bed and ambled over to the mini fridge by the door. Huh. I hadn't noticed that the night before. "Want somethin' to drink?" he asked.

"Yes, please, that would be amazing!" I was purdy sure that water was about the only thing that could make me feel better just about then. He tossed me a Gatorade and I drained half of it in one swig.

"Easy there, tiger, don't choke," Clay said with a half smile and a raised eyebrow. Just then, his phone buzzed and he went to go check it with a sigh. "Looks like your friend, Eric, is looking for you." He bent down to pick up my jeans and handed them to me, deliberately brushing my hand as he did. "As much as I'd _love_ to have you stick around, you should probably go find him." He smirked and sent me a wink. "Don't be a stranger, though. That was one of the best nights I've had in a while. Be a shame not to repeat it."

"It was?" I was still havin' trouble rememberin' the details, but I was purdy sure I'd made a fool outta myself.

"Fuck yeah, it was." He took a sip of his own Gatorade and pecked me on the lips. "You sure know how to make a man happy, Butters." That was the first time he'd said my name.

As I got dressed and finished my Gatorade while Clay typed his number into my phone (somehow I didn't imagine callin' it, not anytime soon), I thought about what Clay'd said, "You sure know how to make a man happy, Butters." I did like makin' people happy. It was kinda what I lived for. I felt a little bit of pride risin' up in my chest, amid the irritability and exhaustion. It was nice to know I _could_ make someone happy, even if it was just for one night.

That was the beginning of a new page for me. Little Butters, all grown up and finally figurin' out how to please people like he'd always wanted to. But there was one problem. Just like I hadn't noticed the Ecstasy in my drink, or how happy Eric got when I finished it or all the other little details, I hadn't noticed that Clay's curtains were open. And I hadn't noticed someone takin' pictures from outside the window. In fact, on Monday, I was too busy worryin' about my sore bottom and a big history test seventh period to notice the way people were starin' at me and whisperin'.

But somethin' did end up gettin' my attention. During lunch, too wrapped up in my own thoughts to notice that no one was sittin' too close to me, I noticed Kenny. For the first time in over a month, he was lookin' right at me.

**I took a bit of a risk with this one, so…thoughts?**

**And I promise, more Bunny stuff is coming soon ;)**


	7. Keep Your Head

**Anybody else have "Jenny (867-5309)" stuck in their head from the last chapter? No? Just me? Okay…**

**Anyone catch the AVPM reference? No…yeah, I'm too subtle for my own good haha**

**Anyway, thank you to everyone who's given this story a chance and given feedback and just for being awesome! I hope you're still with me, enjoying the (bumpy) ride!**

**Heads up: time jumps in this one: opens with a flashback, then returns to normal timeline. Enjoy!**

It's gettin' cold. I'm gonna be grounded. This was a bad idea.

These thoughts kept runnin' through my head like a mantra as I cried, pressing a hand to my cheek where The Coon's claws had broken skin. My aluminum foil gloves were torn to shreds at my feet and my enemy had long run off. Even General Disarray left—it was past his bedtime.

All and all, things were not lookin' good for Professor Chaos.

My plan had been simple: I was on a mission to find and recruit stray animals that would do my bidding. Imagine, ferocious beasts that I could release into the world to bring on chaos and destruction! I'd tried using my hamsters before, but they kinda wandered off, so I thought that maybe an attack dog would be better. Of course, I didn't actually find an attack dog. I found a squirrel. And squirrels aren't real good at doing my bidding.

And then The Coon showed up. I was already headin' home after my foiled plot, but he beat me up anyway. He cut open my face and ripped the aluminum foil on my costume and then left after laughin' in my face.

So I wasn't in the best state when I heard a rustlin' sound from a nearby bush. Boy, I was really hopin' it was my squirrel minion comin' back to check on me. The other possibilities were too scary for my nine-year-old brain to entertain.

Instead, a small figure cloaked in black and purple darted out from behind the bush and ran to my side, strikin' an action pose while he glared at me from behind his mask. His expression looked fierce and it struck terror inta my heart.

"Oh, M-Mysterion, don't beat me up!" I pleaded, tears runnin' down my face. "I'm not doin' nothin', I swear! And The Coon already—"

"The Coon did this?" he asked in his gruff voice. "I should have known." He reached out to touch my face. I tried to move away, but he was much faster. He grabbed my chin and forced me to face him. His brow was furrowed; he was concentrating. "Don't move," he ordered.

He reached for his utility belt and I winced. "Please, Mysterion," I whimpered. I just wanted to go home, I really didn't want to see what kind of torture devices he had on him. He gripped my arm to keep me from moving. I closed my eyes.

"This might sting a bit." I cried out as somethin' brushed my face and the cuts burned. "Hold still!" He said, soundin' kinda impatient. "Jesus Christ, don't be a baby." Next thing I knew, somethin' soft was being pushed against my face. When I raised a hand to feel it, I recognized the plastic-y mesh feel of a Band-Aid. I opened my eyes to find Mysterion standin', shovin' the wrappers into his pocket. "Sorry about the design, my sis—my, uh, ward is going through a unicorn phase." I blinked at him, dumbfounded. He held out a hand to help me up.

"Why?" I asked as I took it, rightin' myself.

"I don't know, little girls are into that kind of thing."

"N-no, not the Band-Aids." I shook my head. "Why are you helpin' me?"

He blinked. "Because that's what I do."

"But I'm a villain." I said, confused.

"You needed help," He stated simply.

"But I thought bein' a hero was all about beatin' bad guys up a-and takin' name?"

He chuckled darkly. "Well, to The Coon, it might be. But being a real hero is about justice."

"Justice?" I scratched my head. "No, see, Professor Chaos is on a mission to e-exact vengeance on a world that wronged him! And Mysterion and the other heroes are s'posed to stop me, not help me."

"Exactly, you're all about _vengeance_, I'm all about _justice_."

I shook my head. "I still don't get it, what's the difference?"

Mysterion sighed and backed up, ready to leave, but before he turned, I jumped, tacklin' him to the ground and pinnin' his arms above his head. "You are foolish, Mysterion!" I cackled. For a split second, right before he threw my off him and sent me flyin' threw the air, I swore I saw a faint smile on his face.

xxx

"_Loo loo loo, I got some apples…"_ I was in a pretty good mood as I rooted through my locker, searchin' for that history book. I was plannin' on doin' some last minute studyin' before my test. "There you are!" I put the book into my bag and shut the locker door, nearly jumpin' outta my skin when I found Eric loungin' against the wall right behind it. "Oh, hamburgers, Eric, you scared me!"

"Hello, Butters," he said with a devilish smile. "How was your weekend?"

"It was pretty good," I said cheerfully. "You know, after you dropped me off on Sunday, I mostly did chores and homework. Thank you for takin' me to the party, though, it sure was a blast!"

"I bet it was." He smile got bigger. "Say, uh, where'd you run off to Saturday night? I seemed to have lost track of you after midnight. Thank _God_ Clay found you, I was worried sick!"

"Oh, I'm really sorry about that, Eric!" What was I thinkin'? I'd been real inconsiderate, leavin' Eric all alone at the party. "Somethin' just came over me, I-I dunno what I was thinkin'. I a-actually stay-stayed the night with Clay…"

He eyes widened innocently. "You _did_? Oh, Butters, I had no idea! You and Clay…?"

"Yeah…" I looked down at my feet, bashful. "Honestly, I didn't mean to, somethin' just k-kinda came over me and, well, would you mind not tellin' anybody about this? It's a little embarrassin', and I don't want anyone gettin' the wrong idea."

"Oh, well, that's a shame, Butters." I looked up at his serious tone. "You, see, I've already told everybody." He was smilin' ear to ear. My heart dropped inta my stomach. I glanced around at the other students in the hall and noticed a few 'a them were starin'. Red was even whisperin' to Wendy while she looked right at me.

"Oh no…" I whispered. My hands started shankin' with nerves and I began bumpin' them together.

"That's not all, Butters," he giggled. "You see, I'm sure people might be a bit _doubtful _about my story. Although I not sure why, everybody knows slut is contagious, and Kenny's about the biggest pathogen of promiscuity in South Park!" He waved his hand. "But that's neither here nor there. See, here's the thing, Butters, a couple of rumors about a crazy one-night-stand is one thing." He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like several Polaroid's. "Scandalous pictures documenting the event being blown up and plastered around the school and, perhaps, sent to your dear parents, well, that's another thing."

I was floored, glued to the spot as he held up pictures of a night that I had only a fuzzy recollection of, at best. I felt like cryin' right then. Eric was right, the rumors I could handle, but my parents could _never_ hear about this. Much less _see_ proof of their own son doin' the nasty with a stranger, ridin' him, naked, mouth open in a cry of pain or pleasure or whatever it was. "W-why?" I choked out as I watched Eric pocket the incriminatin' pictures.

He smiled darkly. "Because, _Butters,_ nobody beats up Eric Cartman—_especially_ not some fairy like you. So if you don't want your dear old mom and dad, along with everyone else to find out about your dirty little secret, you're gonna make sure you stay on my good side." And with that, he turned on his heal and walked away. All I could do was stand there, pale white and a bit nauseous, my test forgotten, just tryin' to figure out how things had gone so wrong, so fast.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Kenny starin' at me again, a hardened, though almost expressionless look on his face. He and I were the only ones left in the hallway. It was a golden opportunity, and if I wasn't currently bein' blackmailed to the hilt, with my life fallin' in around me, I'd have been so happy to have a chance to talk to him again. But I knew the reason he was starin', kinda like he couldn't believe what he was lookin' at. I felt shame wash through me.

It was strange, because just a minute before, I hadn't felt bad about what I'd done. I'd barely given it a second thought. But with the threat of my parents finding out…I just couldn't handle it. My dad would be so angry and my mom…my poor mom would never be able to look me in the eye. It might even send her off the deep end again.

And now Kenny was starin' at me, eyes fixed. He looked disheveled, with hallow cheeks and a gaunt complexion. Come to think of it, he looked down right awful. His over-sized clothes made him look even skinnier that usual, his hair was greasy and messy, he had huge bags under his eyes, and his pupils were tiny. His shoes were even in bad shape. I wanted to tell him to take a picture, 'cause it'll last longer, but I couldn't quite get my voice workin'. When I finally did, all I could muster was a weak, "Where'd your shoelaces go?" He just blinked at me slowly and turned around, walkin' down the hall and out the door without a single glance behind him.

**Review, please? :D**


	8. Trophy Boys

**So, I'm thinkin' I might need to change the rating to "M", mostly because of Cartman's comments and some of the themes…thoughts?**

**Enjoy Chapter 8!**

People like Wendy love to have a cause. I s'pose that's why her and Stan were together for so long. They both feel the need to make a big show of how much they care about "the issues." All the poor, defenseless creatures of the world. It wasn't the first time I was one of her causes, but I was sure hopin' it'd be the last.

"You did _what_?!"Wendy screeched at Eric. It was about three weeks after I lost my virginity and Eric threatened me with the pictures of it. I doodled absently in my notebook, my cheek restin' on my hand. This whole blackmail thing was gettin' old, frankly, and I was getting' bored 'a bein' Eric's lackey. So far, I'd had to carry his books, do all his homework and chores, clean his car (now _that_ was a chore), buy him lunch, and practically wipe his butt! Heck, I bet he woulda actually had me do that if he didn't think he'd "catch the homo." Thankfully, because he was already threatenin' me with embarrassment, he didn't have me do anything too mortifying. Well, that and I don't really get embarrassed too easy.

It's not even like I minded doin' the work. Heck, if Eric had just been nice to me, I mighta helped him out if he asked. But Eric doesn't work that way. Still, I think he was startin' to realize that he wasn't gettin' to me as much as he'd hoped.

Which is why he started breakin' his promise.

"Just a little bit dissolved in his drink is all it took!" Eric smirked, relaxin' back in his chair. "I didn't even give him that much, just a little prod and all the sudden he's a raging slut!"

"You _drugged_ him?" Wendy looked shocked and horrified. No one else in the library looked terribly surprised. "That's _date-rape_ you goddamn asshole!" Eric sputtered.

"Hey—_I_ didn't have sex with him! And I didn't _ruffie_ him, either! It was just a little E."

"You spiked his drink so he would have sex with someone."

"Hey, it's not like I _made_ him do it!"

"You impaired his judgment with drugs!"

"So?"

"So, legally, morally, _logically,_ that means there was no consent!"

"Butters! Wanna go take a walk?" Kyle chirped. Before I could answer, he was draggin' me up to my feet. I was quick to go along. I'll tell ya, I really didn't like how they talked about me like I wasn't there. Stan followed, reluctant to leave the argument, but not thrilled enough by the thought of being nearly alone with his recent ex to stay. The fellas flanked me on either side as we headed out into the small courtyard. Stan pulled a flask from his pocket and handed it over. I gratefully accepted it and took a large gulp, chokin' a little when I found out it was straight whiskey.

I coughed into my sleeve. "Thanks, fellas." I sighed.

"Look, Butters, we know Cartman's got something on you." Stan said, all business-like.

"We wanna know what it is so we can stop listening to him brag about this, it's fucking annoying," Kyle added gruffly, taking a step forward. My back hit the side of the building, I felt strangely cornered.

"Oh, oh Eric doesn't ha-have anything—"

"Yes he does, why else would you be doing everything he tells you to?" Kyle raised an eyebrow at me. Gosh, I really wished they'd back up a little, they were makin' me nervous. "Everyone already knows about you hooking up with that guy, and everyone's pretty much over it by now—"

"Almost everyone," Stan snapped, gesturin' towards the library.

"Well, yeah, almost everyone. Plus, this is basically a re-hash of that rumor about you and Kenny at Bebe's party, you know? It's old hack. So what is it, _really_?"

At this rate my knuckles were never gonna heal. I'd been rubbin' them so much the past few weeks they'd started to chafe. What with Eric's threats and Wendy freakin' out. Not to mention I hadn't seen Kenny since that day in the hallway. "He-he's got…pictures," I mumbled, my face turnin' red.

"Pictures?"

"Well, that's not so bad," Kyle reasoned. I glared at him. "I mean, everyone already knows, I think they'd be just kind of annoyed that Cartman isn't done with this yet."

"In case you haven't noticed, people in South Park aren't exactly known for their long attention spans," Stan grumbled, taking a sip from his flask.

"Or patience." Kyle shrugged. "Just gotta ride it out, dude."

I shook my head. "He was gonna send them to my parents." They both raised their eyebrows at this, exchangin' a look.

"Shoulda figured it was something like that," Kyle said, shakin' his head.

"Guess we've only got one option," Stan said pullin' out a cigarette and slippin' it between his lips. "We have to get rid of them." He lit the cigarette and Kyle nodded.

"He's gotta have them hidden pretty well."

"Fellas…"

"Probably has negatives too."

"We're gonna have to be careful, you know how he gets."

"Fellas…"

"I wonder if there's a way to flip this on him. You know, make it even so he'll shut up."

"Well it _is_ a little weird that he took pictures at all."

"Fellas!" They looked at me, surprised. It was like they forgot I was there at all. Not that that was surprising. "I really don't wanna make this any worse than it already is."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad," said Kyle.

"Yeah, stop being such a pussy," said Stan.

I sighed. The bell rang signaling the end of our pow-wow. Stan put out his cigarette and we headed to class.

Twelve hours later I stood shiverin' outside of Eric's window with Stan and Kyle, dressed head-to-toe in black. "I'm really not sure about this, fellas."

"Do you want him to leave you alone, or not?" Kyle glared. "You gave him the sleeping pills, right?"

I nodded. "Crushed 'em up in his tea, just like you said."

"Then we're fine," Stan said, crushin' a cig under his boot and exhalin' smoke. "Let's go."

"Is he drunk?" I whispered to Kyle, havin' noticed the slur in his words. Kyle gave me a look.

"When else does he smoke?"

I nodded and went to shimmy up the tree by Eric's window, Stan and Kyle at my heels. His window was already open, and I remember thinkin' that was weird, 'cause it was real cold that night. We hopped in the room, tip-toeing around Eric's bed, where he laid snorin'. "Check for loose floorboards," Kyle whispered. "Any hidden nook or cranny."

We combed through the whole room, checkin' in the closet, dresser drawers, inside books and boxes, under his bed, even pattin' down his stuffed animals. But we couldn't find the pictures anywhere. "Where are they?" Stan groaned, exasperated.

"I think I know…" Kyle looked forlorn. He glanced down at Eric's sleepin' form and grimaced. "He's keeping them close…"

"Butters, check under his pillow!"

"_Shh, Stan! You'll wake him!"_

"Nuh-uh! I'm not l-lookin' under his pillow! I already did the risky part, puttin' him to sleep, I'm not doin' this too!"

"Jesus Christ, I'll do it." Kyle rolled his eyes and crept over to Eric's side. He snored a little bit and rolled over in his sleep so he was facin' Kyle. Kyle frowned and paused, waitin' for him to settle. Slowly, he reached down and snuck his hand under the pillow.

Eric's hand snapped out and grabbed Kyle's arm. Stan jumped and Kyle yelped. I just stood there gapin'. Eric sat up, eyes like daggers. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you filthy _Jew_?"

Stan put a hand on his heart. "_Fuck._"

Eric looked around and saw the two of us standin' past his bed. "Oh, you're dead you little queer!" he hissed at me. "After this little stunt, you can bet your cum-filled ass those pictures are going directly to Mommy and Daddy—if I have to hand deliver them myself! In fact, I think I will!" He reached into his back pocket, a smirk on his face—one that slowly disappeared when his hand came up empty. He patted around the bed but found nothing.

His eyes darted to Kyle who was tryin' to wring out of Eric's grip. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY, JEW?" Kyle gave one final yank and dislodged his arm.

"We don't fucking have them, fatass!" he snapped, rubbin' his forearm. "We looked everywhere, couldn't find them."

Eric rolled his eyes. "Sure, yeah, I believe _that_." He jumped outta bed and made a beeline for me, the weakest link, apparently. "You're gonna tell me where they are, or—"

"O-or what?" I challenged. "You ain't got the pictures. You ain't got nothin'! I've just about had it with you! Now why don't you just leave me alone?"

Stan's eyes widened at my outburst and he exchanged another look with Kyle. "A-and another thing!" I said, jabbin' a finger in their direction. "I know you two only wanted to do this so Eric would shut up. But would it've kill ya to stick up for me in the beginin'? Don't treat me like some charity case like Wendy, but for Pete's sake, but I could really use a friend every once in a while!" They stood silently, starin' at me. "Now, if you fellas will excuse me, I'd like to go to bed!" I stomped over to the window, about to leap out when somethin' caught my eye.

A small piece of bright orange fabric was caught in a nail in the windowsill. I snatched it up before any of the other fellas could see it. This was over now, no sense in draggin' it on, like I knew they would've, given the chance.

I played with the cheap polyester in my hand as I walked, thinkin' about the irony of it all. I never thought it would come as such a shock to people when I turned out as slutty as I did. And, boy, did I turn out slutty. Especially durin' the college years, boy, those were some very fun times!

Even Bradley was shocked when I started hintin' at more physical stuff. I remember one time very distinctly, when I'd just finished givin' him a handjob and he started gettin' all nervous and twitchy, chewin' on his thumbnail and pacin'.

"What's wrong, Bradley?" I'd asked. "Was it that bad?"

"No, no, that was, ah, very good." I cocked my head at him. "It's just, ah, I think you're ready to move a lot faster than I am."

"Oh."

"I….I just don't know if I'm…ready…"

"If you don't wanna have sex, we don't have to." I stated simply. "I mean, I sure wanna, but we can wait."

He blinked hard. "I just didn't think you were…"

"What?"

"So…eager…"

It was my turn to blink this time. "Well, contrary to popular belief, I _am_ a guy." He chuckled, relaxing a bit. "I just wanna make you happy."

But on my walk home that night, as the snow started to fall and powder that black espionage outfit, all I could think of was how everyone seemed to think they knew what happened that night, but no one, not a single person, had asked _me_ about it. Wendy was technically right, and I do wish that I'da been sober (or at least in control of my drug and alcohol intake). And Cartman _was_ bein' a dick about the whole thing. But it wasn't Clay's fault.

The truth was, even though I wasn't in the right state of mind, I didn't regret it. Truth was, I went into that party secretly hoping for a hook up, because I just wanted to be close to someone, at least for a little while.

**Just a little obligatory PSA: drugging someone is never okay! **** Butters just has very **_**very **_**low self-esteem right now and sees it as okay. In the aforementioned "college years" he begins to slowly shift to a healthier sex-positive attitude, rather than a "I need to please people" attitude.**

**As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! Any comments, questions, ideas, suggestions, predictions, grammar corrections, commentary, emoticons, weather reports, shoe sizes, etc.—send 'em my way! **

**Thank you!**


	9. Was it God Who Chokes

**A/N IMPORTANT: So I've officially decided to change the rating of this fic to M. Mainly because of a lot of the themes in these next few chapters (it'll be pretty apparent what I'm talking about soon enough). Basically, this is a trigger warning. If you're sensitive to things of this nature, I recommend reading a different fic. **

**Thanks, as always for reading and reviewing **

My sexual escapades were quickly swept under the rug when an even bigger piece of gossip began to buzz through the school. It erupted on the newspaper headlines and generated concerned murmurs all over South Park. The teachers all tried real hard to shush people about it, but, ya know, tellin' people they can't talk about somethin' is about the best way to ensure that a rumor spreads. Me, I found out through Heidi, who heard from Annie, whose mom is friends with Kyle's mom, who's always in the know about scandals like this.

"Fellas!" I called, runnin' over to the lunch table.

"What is it, Butters?" Token asked. Clyde cocked his head at me curiously.

"Didja hear? Kenny's girlfriend got left outside the hospital two nights ago!" I looked around at each of them, wide-eyed. None of them looked terribly concerned, except for Clyde who gave me a confused look.

"What for?"

"Heroin overdose." Craig didn't even look up when he said this, just stared straight ahead, his voice not waverin' from his usual monotone.

"Yeah, that's what Heidi said!" Clyde looked a bit nervous, but Token just sighed sadly.

"Heroin? Well, that's really serious!" Clyde said.

"Yeah, well, is it that big of a surprise?" Token shrugged. "Nichole said Tammy was kind of a ticking time bomb. She was always high in class, and she never talked to anyone…"His voice dropped to a whisper. "Nichole even caught her stealing money from her locker."

Craig muttered somethin' under his breath. I could almost swear I saw a spark 'a anger in his eyes. "Well we oughta do somethin'!" I cried. Why weren't none 'a them takin' this seriously?

"Like what?" Clyde asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, for starters, find Kenny!" I insisted. "He's gonna be real tore up about his girlfriend bein' sick 'n all—I bet he'd like some friends right now!" Token and Craig exchanged a look.

"Umm, Butters…" Token started, a pityin' look in his eyes.

"I know, I know, we haven't really talked to him in a while, but I think this is real important!" They were all real quiet for a minute, then Craig stood up.

"Whatever," he muttered as he walked away.

"You go ahead, Butters," Token said sadly. "Just, be careful."

I blinked, taken aback. "Careful? Why, it's just ol' Kenny we're talkin' about!"

Token gave a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, same old Kenny…"

Well, those fellas could hem and haw all they wanted, but I was determined to be there for Kenny! Right after school ended, I headed straight to Kenny's house. The cold spring breeze nipped at my skin and I wrapped my jacket tighter 'round myself. I'd forgotten how much further Kenny's house was from everybody else's. When I finally stepped onto the trash-littered lawn, my nose and ears were gettin' numb and tingly.

I stepped over an empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and up to the porch. Suddenly, I was feelin' a bit apprehensive. I hadn't spoken to Kenny in months, and I was about to barge right back into his life without warnin'. But I knew in my heart 'a hearts that this was the right thing to do. Kenny needed _someone_ right now.

I'd barely raised my hand to knock when the door swung open and I was standin' face to face with a skinny teenage girl—about thirteen, maybe—with long brown hair and a small scratch on her left cheek, just below her eye. She was carryin' a backpack and had an old doll clutched in her right hand. She looked up when she saw me in her way, but didn't look terribly surprised.

"Hi!" I greeted cheerfully. "You must be Karen." She cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah." She sounded real tired.

"Well, my name's Butters. I'm here to see Kenny, is he home?" I smiled pleasantly at her.

Karen scowled and glanced behind her. She stepped the rest of the way outside and shut the door behind her, standin' in front of it protectively. "Now ain't a real good time," she said curtly. I noticed her accent sounded a lot like her mother's. "'Sides, he ain't s'posed ta be workin' today anyway."

"Workin'?" I didn't know Kenny had a job. "N-no, I'm a friend of his from school, I heard about Tammy a-and I just thought I'd stop by to see how he's doin'."

"_Shitty_," she spat. "He's doin' shitty. Now, ya wanna git outta my way?"

I could barely mumble an apology before she'd pushed past me and started headin' down the road. I stood there for a moment, baffled. I wondered briefly if I should just go home, but I barely entertained the thought. I came here to be a friend, and after what Karen told me, it sounded like Kenny could really use one, now more than ever.

I slowly made my way into the house, feelin' a bit nervous. It was awful dark inside, the only light comin' from the old TV in the corner. The whole room smelled like cigarettes. There were cracks in the dry wall and clutter all across the floor: empty beer cans, spoons with black marks on them, a dirty sock in one corner and a stain on the wall that looked suspiciously like blood. I nearly jumped when I saw his dad sittin' in the recliner, until I realized he was asleep. I tip toed past, careful not to bump into him or accidentally knock the beer can from his hand.

A strange noise from down the hall startled me. "_Kenny?_" I whispered. I crept up towards the sound as quietly as I could, my trepidation growin'. I heard the noise again—it was a retchin' followed by a whimper. "Kenny?" I could see the bathroom light on at the end of the short hallway. I peaked my head in and saw Kenny curled around the toilet, his bare chest was covered in sweat and goosebumps and he was cryin' into his hand. I gasped at the sight.

"Karen, I told you to go to Ruby's, now get outta here!"

"Kenny!" He jumped when he caught sight of me.

"_What the fuck are you doing here?_" he growled. His voice didn't sound like his own. He rubbed his nose, a trail of snot dripin' down his face. His pupils were dilated and he kept fidgetin' with the hole in the knee of his jeans.

"I-I—"

"I'm not doing any business today, if that's what you're here for."

"W-what? K-Ken, I heard about Tammy—" He cut me off with a violent heave into the toilet. I cringed and waited for him to finish. "I heard your girlfriend's in the hospital and I wanted to c-come and see h-how you were doin'…" I explained quietly.

He snorted and stood up, flushin' the toilet as he spat the taste outta his mouth. "She's not my girlfriend."

"W-what?"

"She's my hook-up." He turned on the faucet and splashed water in his face.

"Umm, well, I just figured you must like her a lot, since you been hangin' out with her all the time."

"My _heroin _hook-up."

"Oh." He yawned and ran a hand through his hair.

"Look, I'm not really in the mood to chit-chat, Butters."

"I-I…" I was at a complete loss for words.

It was the second time in my life that I was face-to-face with a severely fucked-up Kenny. The first time, I'd sat by while he came down from his cheesin' high. I'd handed him coffee, even after he threw up all over me. But that time his friends had tried to help too. Now it was just the two of us, utterly alone. And he was a lot worse off this time.

Not knowin' what else to do, I wandered back into the hall to look for the kitchen. I found it pretty quickly (Kenny's house ain't too big) across from the living room. A few minutes later I came back with a mug of coffee. The pot I found on the counter wasn't fresh, but I heated up a cup in the microwave, so at least it was hot. For good measure, I also grabbed the water bottle from my bag in case Kenny got dehydrated from all that pukin'.

He accepted the water gratefully, gulpin' down almost half before he switched to sippin' the coffee carefully. He pushed past me into his room and started pacin' back 'n forth across the floor, lookin' like he was about to fall apart.

Hesitantly, I followed him and sat down on the edge of his bed…well, his mattress. His room was nearly bare, with only an old girlie poster hangin' above the mattress, a small nightstand with resin stains and an ashtray perched atop it, and an old dresser shoved into the closet. He set down the coffee and pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocket. As he lit up, I couldn't help but start rubbin' my knuckles together. He caught sight 'a my fidgeting and put a hand over mine to stop me. I looked up at his face to find him starin' me dead in the eye.

He snatched the cigarette from his lips and leaned down. "Stop."

"Ken…w-w-why…" I took a deep breath. "What happened to you?" He turned away, takin' another drag from his cigarette.

"Long story."

I paused. "Well…" I said, typin' a search into my phone. "Accordin' to About dot com, withdrawal symptoms can last anywhere from five days to a few weeks. So, I guess we have some time." He looked at me with hardened eyes. "That's what you're doin', ain't it? Goin' through withdrawal?" He took another drag. "What happened to Tammy scared you, didn't it? So you're tryin' to get clean." I leaned forward on my elbows. "I heard she was passed out when they found her outside the E.R.—there was no way she got there on her own."

He ground the butt into the ashtray on the nightstand and blew out one last breath of smoke.

"Fine. You wanna hear what happened? Yeah, seein' her like that scared me," he admitted. "But not as much as what's gonna happen to us when she gets out."

**I hope you're enjoying this plot twist as much as I am **** What do you think about Karen? Kenny's story is coming, I promise not to disappoint!**

**Side note: I have no personal experience with drug abuse, nor do I know any one who does. My writing is based on some very basic research (a preliminary Google search and a documentary on the Heroin epidemic in Utah), so I apologize if there are any false representations of the subject matter. I really don't want to offend anyone or make them uncomfortable, so, as I said at the beginning of the chapter, the rating has changed and if anyone is sensitive to these themes, I wouldn't blame you to abandon this fic.**

**That said, thank you for sticking with me for this long! Please leave a review if you wish, otherwise, I'll try to post sometime next week! **


	10. A Taste of What You've Paid For

**Part II**

Ebola hemorrhagic fever is apparently this super rare disease that usually only occurs in monkeys in Africa or something. So of course _my _body found a way to contract it.

I was at Hell's Pass to get my hard cast for my broken arm (that's a fun story too, but not really relevant) and I noticed this one nurse with—I shit you not—the perkiest fucking boobies in a 30 mile radius. So, naturally, I had to follow her to see if I could get a better view. Or something.

Turns out she was on her way to give some shots to his asshole who'd thought it was a grand fucking idea to go all naturist and film African wildlife, all up close and personal. Needless to say, he caught that rare monkey disease and ended up in Hells Pass. Anyway, just as I'm peeking through the door, Nurse-big-cans trips on her way to that safe needle disposal thing and the needle goes flying and lands in my goddamn arm.

Doc goes on to tell me all what I could've already guessed. The prognosis isn't good, it's all gonna be super painful, there's no real treatment, I only have so long, blah, blah, blah.

It's such bullshit. I never even get a good look at that nurse's tits.

They start me on an oxygen therapy that I know won't work anyway. I just kinda wanna get done with already, ya know? I mean, I've got a fever, nausea, diarrhea, a nasty rash on my chest, and—here's the kicker—I'm bleeding, not only internally, but literally,_ out my fucking ass_. I know I'm dying, slowly and painfully, so I start to wonder about how I could maybe streamline the process.

There was a time I would've tried to just off myself before it got worse. But now I know that it's never that easy. See, I've come to learn that being re-born every time I die does not mean I get a clean slate. Basically, if it doesn't kill me, it sticks around. So if I were to have tied a bed sheet around my neck and jumped off the bed, I'd just wake up the next day, right back in that hospital bed, still dying of some god-awful money disease.

And that's how it all started. The doctors finally gave up and just hooked me up to an IV drip of morphine to "make me comfortable." Normally, when they do this for terminal patients, it's not a big deal, I mean, it's not like they're gonna get hooked on the stuff. They actually need it to manage their pain and they'll probably kick the bucket soon anyway. And, you know, a doctor controls their intake.

But I was different. I got to keep pressing that little lucky button that increased my dosage (they actually put me in charge of it! But, ya know, they _were _South Park doctors). Every time my joints ached or my mom was crying really loud or when the doctors babbled on with their useless medical jargon, or when the guys from school started to visit and I had to listen to them bicker and sniffle and talk about what a great friend I am—_click click click_, there goes the magic medicine! Don't get me wrong, I love those guys, but the sympathy and mourning gets old when you die all the time. And it_ really_ gets annoying when they only seem to care about the longer, more drawn out deaths. The ones where they have to face me during the process.

You even showed up. That was kind of nice. You always seemed to care a little more about my deaths. Just in your nature to care, I'd figured. You even stuck around to chat for a while. I got kind of morbid, though, and you left.

The day I died, I had so much morphine pumping through my veins I actually worried about an overdose for a fleeting moment. But that would just mean I'd have to repeat the process. My mom was crying her eyes out and my dad and my brother were trying to look all stoic, like they were being strong for her. I was just glad Karen was in school that day. She didn't need to see me die again.

The heart rate monitor started to slow and I pressed that morphine button one more time. A Hail Mary of drugs, I was hoping I might get a little high before being dragged to hell.

Four months later, after a grueling session in the underworld, chillin' with Damian and scoping out sirens, I woke up in my bed, with growing pains shooting through my legs and a bone-deep itch for another round with the magic morphine button.

Of course, I should have seen it coming. After all, the Ebola hemorrhagic fever was a painful way to go, but I had managed to push my luck with the drugs. I didn't just relieve my pain; I kept going until I felt like my veins were pumping liquid gold. But that wasn't what killed me, so the dependency of the drug stayed in my system.

I was hooked.

Which was really shitty because, as I soon found out, morphine is _fucking expensive_. Doesn't matter where you get it—on the street, in the hospital with fake muscle pain (I ain't insured)—it'll drain your finances for sure. 'Scripts are the rich man's drug, and let me tell you, a rich man I am not.

So pretty soon I was out of cash and jonesin' for a hit like nobody's business. I couldn't sleep, I was breaking out in cold sweats all the time, I kept getting sick, and _everything _hurt. And that was only after a day or so of going without my morphine.

I tried meth—after all, I _did_ have a nearly unlimited supply in the backyard—but it only made me sick. Besides, we needed that for food money.

I started getting better after that party. When we started hanging out more. I was getting less cravings and I was starting to feel like myself again. It was nice to escape. Just pal around and chat with you and feel like a normal human being and not a creature driven by base need for a chemical reaction.

It was still there, though. Like a little nagging in the back of my head. An addict can be clean for years and still get urges every once in a while. And I'd only been sober (from morphine, anyway, I still got shit-faced on Fridays and smoked pot all the time) for a couple weeks when Tammy showed up.

At first, I didn't think much of it. I figured we'd hang out, just like the old days, smoking and watching TV, but she wasn't the Tammy from the old days. Not really. When she told me about her friend in Denver I turned her down. I told her I was getting clean and I couldn't do that. I told her I was better. I told her I had to think about my family. I told her my sister didn't need another junkie in the house. I told her no.

At first.

I wasn't better enough, and I cracked. Offer an addict a free fix and what do you think is gonna happen? Yeah—I didn't believe it either. Free? Well, I was desperate and I couldn't pass it up much longer. I told Tammy to set it up.

Her friend lived in this dumpy little apartment in the worst part of Denver. Fuck, I'm surprised I wasn't shot on the way in. But we make it into the apartment in one piece and this guy with, like, the meanest face you've ever seen opens the door. He's seriously about eight feet tall, jacked as all shit, and covered in tattoos and an expression like he'd like nothing more that bust you up into bits and top his cereal with your bones.

So, I know he was looking at me, you know, all 127 pounds of me and wondering if I was even worth the goddamn trouble. And then he smiles like a goddamn kid on Christmas and tells us to come in. Fucking creepy shit, man.

Turns out, the Jolly Green Giant doesn't even have morphine. He's got—you guessed it!—heroin. Which is an opiate, too, so I figure, at least it won't get me sick, and maybe I'll just overdose and get it done with. Of course I didn't. I never really die when it's fucking convenient. Instead, I get the greatest fucking high of my life. Better than anything. Sex, alcohol, poptarts—_everything_.

Well, guess what, turns out heroin's expensive too.

That's how they get people hooked. A free round the first time or two with really high-quality stuff. Give them a taste, then BAM: customer for life. A very short life, but still.

So it's not long before there I am, fucked up one of the most dangerous drugs known to fucking mankind with a bouncer on steroids telling me I better fucking pay up, one way or another. I got no money, no fix, and no way out. Except one.

Maurice tells us (yeah, Sasquatch's real name is fucking Maurice) if we want more stuff we have to pay for it. And if we don't have money, we're gonna have to roll up our sleeves and do the dishes, so to speak. Well, we don't really have a choice at this point.

I mean, I tried. I went two days before I caved. A whole 48 hours of painful withdrawal. Of puking and shitting and sweating and pain. They say some people are more prone to addiction that others. I'm definitely one of them. You know me, I never half-ass shit, and neither does my body, apparently. Everything I do, I throw myself into it completely. Even when I was a little kid playing dress-up and make believe—I never broke character.

So this was my new character: strung-out, in debt, with my family being threatened, working the streets of Denver just to get that next hit. But, hey, it's not like I ever had any dignity to begin with, so no real loss there.

And I like sex too. I figured it couldn't be too bad, you know? Maybe even make a little extra cash to get Karen some dinner that doesn't consist of frozen waffles. But that's not how it works. Sex is fun, it's exciting and intimate. Having some ugly stranger give you thirty bucks to act out some creepy fetish behind Denny's at 3 am after a whole night being beat up, spat on, fucked, gagged, and, more than once, actually killed, is none of those things.

Nobody's soliciting a prostitute because they're _too_ attractive or well adjusted. No, it was all ugly, creepy fuckers. Sexually repressed gas station managers with comb-overs and either a fetish to be coddled like a baby or dominated with whips or to have some poor druggie act as their personal punching bag for three hours. I mean, every once in a while I'd get a scared teenager in denial about his sexuality or a MILF who really did just want an escort. But mostly, it was fat trailer trash women with lopsided boobs shoved into too-tight tube-tops and horny truck drivers with Oedipus Complex's who want you to wear wig like their mom used to bring out on special occasions.

But that wasn't the worst part. Those people were all strangers; I only had to face them maybe a couple times. The worst was when Maurice was pressuring for more money, and I started having to shoot up more and more to offset the pain and try and feel good again—try and feel _normal_ again. I had to find a way to get more clients, so I put up my number in the school bathroom, not even sure if it would work.

You have no idea, dude, the amount of depraved motherfuckers we go to school with every goddamn day. Ones that don't give a rat's ass about any of the shit you're going through and just wanna get their rocks off for a nominal fee, no questions asked. Or the ones that pretend to care but just yell at you like it's your goddamn fault and harass Tammy even though she's in an even worse spot—

But I don't wanna talk about that.

Okay, long story short, things went south. Tammy OD'd and I'm not sure if she's okay or if she's gonna make it and Maurice and his guys are gonna be coming after me because I fucked up and I gave her the wrong shit because he wasn't giving us our share so I stole it and it's not just me I'm worried about.

He's made it very clear: he owns us. Our bodies, our pay, our fucking lives. As far as he's concerned, I just cost him a lot of merchandise. About a thousand dollars worth of drugs and two whores. 'Cause even if Tammy does live, he's gonna kill us both, and he's gonna replace us. He's got eyes on Tammy's sister and Karen, and he's gonna take them, turn them into his filthy whores.

But I'm not gonna let him. That's why I'm trying to get clean, so I can stand a fighting chance.

It hurts, though.

It hurts so goddamn much, Butters.

**A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of the amazing reviewers! Stay tuned, there's more to come. I hope you're enjoying it **


	11. You're a Regular Decorated Emergency

When I was real little, maybe six years old, I found a kitten. I was ridin' my brand new bike, a present from my Uncle Bud with the cool light blue streamers on the handle bars. I was only s'posed to go the end of my driveway, or else someone might kidnap me, or worse: I'd get grounded. But I was real excited about that new bike, see, and I started goin' real fast, and I just lost track 'a where I was goin'. I ended up about a quarter mile up the road, right next to Mr. Jackson's house.

Now, Mr. Jackson was a strange old man. He had a huge pile of garbage in his yard. His whole property was covered in wooden planks, car parts, metal scraps, boxes and a million other things. You couldn't even see the grass no more. And he was always burnin' tires. I don't know why, he just always did. It made the whole block smell, too. My dad used to call him "Ditch Man," 'cause he was always out there standin' in the ditch by the road, pilin' more garbage on is lawn.

That didn't really bother me too much, so I just kept ridin' my brand new bike as fast as I could right past his house. But then I noticed something in the road. I figured maybe it was a piece of cardboard that blew out into the road from Mr. Jackson's lawn or a squirrel that would run out of my way, so I just kept goin'. Whatever it was though, it didn't move.

When I finally got close enough to see this thing well enough, I skidded to a halt, topplin' over and skinnin' my knee. I didn't worry 'bout my knee too much 'cause I was too busy worryin' about this tiny little creature in front of my bike.

The smallest kitten I'd ever seen was crouched in the middle of the road, right in the path of my bike. I crept a little closer, hopin' I could maybe pet it. I never got to have a pet growin' up and I always wanted one. I was about a foot away when I noticed somethin' wasn't right about this cat. It was so small, for one. I was real scared to touch it, 'cause I didn't wanna break it. And its eyes were all weird. They were red and all wet and gooey. Like my eyes get when I have pinkeye—runny and itchy and yucky.

Even so, it was the most endearing thing I'd ever seen in my short life. He had pretty orange striped fur and a cute little tail. I wanted to scoop him up in my arms and carry him with me wherever I went for the rest of my life. I wanted to keep him wrapped up in my jacket and feed him and pet him and tell him it's gonna be okay, 'cause pinkeye don't last too long, anyway.

I was real scared for the little fella, too. He hadn't even moved when my bike came screamin' down the road. It was like the little guy didn't care if he got hit or not. So I did what any six year old would do in that situation: I went to get my dad to ask if I could keep him.

My dad was real sore at me, he sure was. After a lot of yellin' and two weeks 'a groundin' slapped on me, I was at least able to convince him to let me come with him to get my bike. It was brand new, after all. We couldn't just leave it out there.

I didn't even know if the kitten would still be there when I got back. I figured it musta run off by now. But it didn't. When we reached my bike, we found the poor little thing curled up between the trainin' wheels, cowerin' there like the world was gonna fall in on top 'a him at any second.

We tried to coax him out from under my bike, but the little fella didn't wanna move. Finally, my dad picked up the bike and I snatched the kitty out from under it. He started goin' nuts, clawin' and scratchin' at me. My dad grabbed him and walked him over to the other side of the street, placin' him on top of a box in Mr. Jackson's yard.

"Why'd you do that, Daddy?" I'd asked, baffled.

He signed. "Butters, there's nothing we could do to save that cat. Even if we took it to a shelter, it probably wouldn't do any good. We can only hope his mother is over there and will take care of him."

"Why would she be over there?" I pointed at Mr. Jackson's lawn. It seemed like a bad place for a cat to live. Cats like couches and rugs, not old tires and metal scrap.

"Mr. Jackson has a lot of cats, Butters. And he doesn't quite take care of them right. Then they have a bunch of baby cats and, well, some of them grow up and turn into wild cats, and the others…" He gestured toward the ginger cat, still perched on the box, not movin' an inch. "Come on, let's get you home. You are grounded, young man."

"But will the kitty be okay?"

He sighed again. "I don't know, son. But he was pretty scrappy when you picked him up—and that's a very good thing. He's got some fight left in him yet."

xxx

I patted Kenny's back as he threw up. He was shakin' and sweatin' and pale as a sheet, the poor thing. And his spine was stickin' out, pokin' my hand. He'd lost a lot 'a weight in the past few months, which was sayin' something, 'cause he was already so thin to begin with.

He was in a bad state, Kenny was. Between the pukin', and the pacin', and the diarrhea and the not bein' able to sleep, he got moody too. He'd snap at me for every little thing, and as the pain got worse, he got nastier.

"Give me the goddamn towel."

"I need water or I'm gonna fucking die, is that what you want?"

"I gotta get a hit, man, I fucking _need it_, why won't you let me _go_?"

"Get the fuck outta here, you're making it worse!"

"You fucking asshole, you fucking _faggot slut!_ Why can't you leave me the fuck _alone?_"

"What did you call me?" I'd been waitin' for that one, I s'pose, but it still stung. I knew he didn't mean it, either. Withdrawal can make people real mean, apparently. Besides, it wasn't even me he was angry with. Bradley would've called it "projecting." I just called it sad. Kenny just ignored me and gave a weak drive-heave into the toliet.

It'd been a tough 12 hours, and I'd been learnin' to let little things like that roll off my back. Kenny did need me right now, and in the moments where his resolve seemed to catch up with his pain, he would tell me more of his story, fillin' in the gaps. And what he'd insisted, at the very beginning, was—no matter how bad he got—I would not let him out of my sight, no sir.

I'd texted Dougie and told him to cover for me. We weren't as close as we used to be, but I knew he'd do it. Being childhood partners-in-crime was hardly somethin' you forget. I called my parents and told them I was at Dougie's house, workin' on a project for a couple 'a days. I knew I'd get grounded eventually, but this would buy me a little time.

"So, you…die?" I'd asked Kenny, about four hours into my stay there.

"Yup."

"No foolin'?"

"Nope."

"W-well, I s'pose that's 'bout as crazy as anythin' else that happens in this town." He chuckled darkly.

"Yeah, I guess." I still wasn't sure if I believed it, but I couldn't figure out why he'd be lyin'. I decided to go along with his story.

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Shoot."

"W-why don't ya just overdose?" He looked up at me. "You said you stole a bunch of heroin from Maurice, why don't you just overdose then wake up without the addiction?" He rolled his eyes.

"You think I still have any left? Butters, if there was any heroin around, I'd be using." He ran a hand through his hair. "I nicked it a couple of weeks ago. Between the two of us, we used up quite a bit and the rest…" He sighed. "The rest was stolen. About five days ago."

"Who stole it? Maurice?"

"Nah, I woulda known if it was him. I have a couple of ideas though."

"Wait, if it was stolen five days ago, how did Tammy OD three days ago?" Kenny looked grim at the mention of Tammy OD'ing.

"My stash was stolen. But I still had a little bit that I carried with me. Enough for a couple days, anyway. Tammy and I were gonna shoot up Wednesday night. It was supposed to be a last hurrah before we had to deal with the shit storm. But she started to doze off and her lips turned blue…I brought her to the E.R. as quick as I could, and I was planning on taking my hit when I got back, but…" He trailed off.

"But what?"

"Nevermind." Kenny'd stood up and started to head to the bathroom.

"But—"

"I'm done talking about this!" He snapped. I sighed. His calm moment was over and we were back to the mood swings.

About six hours in, I asked about Maurice. "Is he really that dangerous?"

"Butters, he's not a little kid playing 'kissing factory.'" I blushed. "He's a real bad guy. I guessing the only reason he hasn't come after me yet is that he knows I have nowhere else to go for a fix. He probably thinks I'll come crawling back after the withdrawal gets too hard."

And it was starting to look that way. He was gettin' worse, and I was gettin' scared. In this state, Kenny couldn't really overpower me, but he might be able to trick me and get away. He's a lot smarter than me, after all. So, I decided to call in some back up.

Kenny had fallen asleep for the first time in four days. Well, he more or less passed out, anyway. He was sprawled across his bed, his greasy, sweaty hair sticking to his face. He looks kind of peaceful this way. His chest moved up and down at a steady, even pace, a metal chain with a half 'a heart charm danglin' from it glinted off his skin in the moonlight seepin' in from his window. He looked so small and helpless, yet strangely endearing.

I knew I wouldn't have long, so I tore my eyes away from Kenny's sleeping form and grabbed my phone. I sighed and called the only guys I knew who might be able to help.

"Hello?"

"Kyle! Listen, you and Stan should really get over here, Kenny's not doin' so good!"

"Wait…what?" Kyle sounded groggy and confused. It wasn't until then that I realized how late it was. "Butters, it's like three am, what's going on?" I heard a rustlin' on the other end, followed by someone mumblin' something in the background.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to w-wake you, it's just, boy, Kenny really needs some help, and I can't do this on my own." Kyle yawned.

"Look, Butters, it's really late. Can't this wait until tomorrow?" I could hear the other person sighin' softly.

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important, Kyle." I was gettin' downright annoyed, now. He couldn't get his ass up for Kenny? The guy he claimed was one of his best friends? "He's detoxin'. He's real sick and I'm worried I won't be able to stop him if he tries to get away to get more heroin."

"_Jesus Christ_." Kyle sighed. "Butters, Kenny and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now…"

"_What's going on?" _It was that voice again, a little louder now. I crinkled my brow, recognizing the owner.

"_Kenny's coming down off his bender, I guess. Butters wants us to help out." _Kyle's voice was muffled. He musta put his hand over the mic. There was a pause.

"…_fucking serious?"_

"Fellas, this is _Kenny_ here. He's in trouble! Ain't you guys s'posed to be friends?" These two were really gettin' my nerves lately. I'm a pretty patient guy, I am, but I was gettin' real tired of Stan-and-Kyle's 'us against the world' bullshit. "He's tryin' ta get better, but he needs help. So_, gosh darn-it_, can't y'all put aside your differences and help him out?"

I heard a shuffle on the other end, then Stan's voice say, "We'll be right over." I could practically _hear _him pinchin' the bridge of his nose before the line disconnected.

**A/N: This one was particularly fun to write! **** I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again. Maybe Thursday, but after that I'm gonna be working pretty much non-stop for a couple weeks, so expect delays. I'll try my best to keep writing, though!**

**For the record, the story about the kitten is more or less a true story. "Ditch man" is real (obviously, Mr. Jackson is not his real name). The only difference is that it was me, not Butters that almost ran over the orange kitten. And it was with my car, not a bike. Poor thing **** I still keep an eye out for him, but I haven't seen it in about a month. I'm seriously considering reporting this guy; it's really sad what happens to those cats….**

**Unless you plan on taking care of or selling the babies, please spay and neuter your pets, people.**

**As always, thank you to my reviewers!**


	12. Few Cheap Shots Away from the End of Me

"The cavalry has arrived!" Kyle announced, burstin' through Kenny's door, followed closely by Stan and clutchin' a water bottle and his phone in one hand and a PSP and small brown bag in the other.

"_Shh!_" I hushed, gesturin' to Kenny's sleepin' form. They nodded and Stan whispered an apology. They crept over to the bed, examinin' Kenny like he was some sorta anomaly. I'd settled down on the bed next to him so I could get some rest myself. The other fellas exchanged a look when I brushed some sweaty hair from his face. "Whatcha got there, Kyle?" I asked quietly.

"I've been doing a little research on detoxing," he answered, waving his phone. "Doing it cold turkey is better in the long run, but really shitty in the short run. Since we don't have access to prescription drugs they use in rehab facilities, I got the basics: water, NyQuil, Pepto-Bismol, and a distraction." He flourished the PSP.

"NyQuil and Pepto-Bismol?"

"Withdrawal is like a really, really, _really_ bad flu, so, according to this website, NyQuil can help take the edge off. Plus it might put him to sleep again. The Pepto is for his stomach."

"And I brought him a peanut butter sandwich to nibble on," Stan added, pullin' out a crumpled bag from the pocket in his hoodie. He smiled faintly at me and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holdin' in. It felt good to know we weren't alone in this here uphill battle.

"How long since his last hit?" Stan asked.

"Since really early Wednesday morning," I stated.

"Three days." Kyle nodded. "Well, good news is, the worst is probably over, but he's gonna be feeling it for a few days still."

"How long has he been using?" Stan asked me, his brow crinkled.

"He's been hooked on heroin since Tammy got back a couple 'a months ago, but he's been usin' opiates on and off since the beginning of tenth grade."

"What else did he use?"

"Morphine. Ever since he was in the hospital a couple years ago—"

"Huh?" Stan blinked. "When was he in the _hospital_?"

I rolled my eyes. How could they forget? Were they really that caught up in their own lives? "End of freshman year, 'a course! 'Member, he got real sick and then he was gone for a while? And when he came back he was super weird for, like, a year?" Stan and Kyle looked at me like I had about seven heads, I'll tell you. I was about to keep goin', but Kenny started to stir beside me.

He groaned and clutched his stomach. "Bucket," he mumbled. I shifted to reach the bucket beside his bed, pullin' it up into my lap and helpin' Kenny into a sittin' position so he could puke. I noticed Stan-and-Kyle starin' as I rubbed his back and stoked his hair.

Kenny's retches grew silent and he laid back down. I replaced the bucket and reached for a damp washcloth on the bedside table. Gently, I wiped his mouth clean and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Ken?" I said softly. "Stan and Kyle are here. They're gonna help me take care 'a ya."

"No." I almost jumped at Kenny's voice. It was surprisingly forceful.

"Kenny, they're—"

"No." He sat up, winced in pain. His hand shot up to his head to cradle it. He glared at the pair standin' by his bedside. "Get out."

"Kenny," Stan started sayin'. "Can't we just—"

"_Leave._"

"Look, we should've stopped him, I know," Kyle said impatiently. "But we didn't, okay? It's over now, can't we just move past it? You need help, dude." Kenny glared.

"Stopped who?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it, Butters," Stan muttered dismissively. Kenny snorted.

"He wouldn't have to worry about it if you'd just told Cartman to fuck off—"

"Have you ever tried to stop Cartman from getting what he wants? Huh? It's not exactly a simple task!" Kyle barked. "Besides, where were you the whole time that was going on? If it was so important, why didn't you just stop him yourself?"

"You know why," Kenny said darkly.

"Fellas, fellas, what are you talking about?" I cried. Stan and Kyle couldn't leave—I'd just convinced them to help out. This was all gettin' purdy outta hand.

"Go on, tell him," Kenny spat. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We knew," he said grudgingly. "About Cartman's plan to get you high at that party…and, you know…" I blinked.

"Oh." It was all I could think to say. It stung, of course, to know that they could've stopped it, but I wasn't entirely surprised. I wasn't exactly a close friend of theirs, so I guess I got why they wouldn't bother to help out. I turned to Kenny. "Did you know?" He shook his head.

"Not until after."

"You could've stopped Cartman from blackmailing him!" Kyle jabbed.

"I did." Kenny looked real angry now. Not just annoyed, but that creepy kind of quiet angry that people only get when they're downright furious. "Who do you think stole the pictures from Cartman?" Stan blushed.

"I never did thank you for that, Kenny," I said, perkin' up. He looked confused.

"You knew it was me?" I dug around in my jacket pocket for a minute and pulled out the little piece of orange fabric I'd found a couple 'a weeks earlier.

"I found this in Eric's windowsill," I explained as Kenny eyed the cloth. "I forgot I still had it with me." He glanced up at me, a real strange expression on his face.

"Come on, now!" I said, lookin' at each 'a them in turn. "I think we have bigger things to worry about!"

The next 24 hours were spent monitorin' Kenny's improvement, tryin' to keep him distracted with the PSP or exercise ("You have to stay active, otherwise you'll be sick for longer!" Kyle'd said), pumpin' him full 'a cold medicine and Pepto, and, most importantly, makin' sure he didn't leave our sight. We would even draw straws to see which one 'a us would have to chaperone his bathroom trips.

Man, did I get that short straw a lot.

Eventually, we felt confident enough to start rotatin' through shifts. I went home for an hour around 11:00 am to shower and do a couple chores before goin' back to "finish that project with Dougie." Stan left at 2:00 to walk his dog and get some lunch. Kyle left at 4:00 to do some homework and came back with more medicine and some dinner for the rest of us, courtesy of Mrs. Broflovski.

"Welp, four days down," Stan lamented. Over on the bed, Kyle grunted in his sleep and turned over (we'd been sleepin' in shifts too). Stan's gaze followed his movements.

"Yeah, and a million to go," Kenny moaned, massagin' a pain in his leg.

"You said it was gettin' better, didn't cha?" I asked him.

"Infinitesimally," he replied in a monotone that reminded me of Craig.

"You must be getting better, your snarky comments are getting more and more sophisticated," Stan said lazily.

"Bite me."

"Seems I spoke too soon."

It was a nice reprieve, the batter. 'Cause those were the few-and-far-between moments in the past couple 'a days where things kinda started to get back to normal. It sure was nice to take a break from Kenny's anger and sickness and tantrums (that was the worst, when he'd start _cryin'_ for some relief) and catch a glimpse 'a the old Kenny.

But it wasn't over yet, and in the meantime, we had bigger problems. "So what are we gonna do?" I asked.

"About what?" Stan gave me a quizzical look.

"About…_Maurice_." I'm not sure why I whispered. I guess I just didn't like that name much. Sayin' it out loud made me nervous. Like if we said it enough he'd appear, like Beetlejuice or somethin'.

"I'm not sure how much we can do," Stan said glumly. "Right now at least." I'd filled them in about Kenny's story. The basics, anyway. I left out the stuff about him dyin' and the prostitution. I just kinda figured that might be somethin' Kenny would wanna tell them himself, is all.

But they knew he was in trouble, and that his sister was bein' threatened. We had her text Kenny every hour to let him know she was okay, and she'd been callin' every couple 'a hours anyway to check on him. Poor kid. It musta been real hard on her to see her brother in such a state. I knew Kenny felt right bad about it, too. Or he would, if he wasn't goin' through withdrawal. Kenny'd always had a thing about protectin' his sister—especially when his parents weren't around. I bet he felt like he really let her down.

"We've got other problems, too," Kyle yawned, sittin' up. Stan shifted next to me.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like the PTA—and by the PTA I mean my mother, of course—is freaking the fuck out because South Park apparently has a "heroin epidemic"." He made air-quotes with his fingers around the words "heroin epidemic." "She's convinced that what happened with Tammy will inevitably happen to all of us, despite my reassurances that a couple of bad eggs does not an epidemic make—no offense, Kenny."

"None taken," Kenny replied flippantly as he popped some Ibuprophen.

"She's spearheading a crusade against drug use. Last I heard, she's got the principal organizing a big seminar on the adverse effects of gateway drugs." He rolled his eyes. "And, knowing my mom, that's just the tip of the iceberg."

"Aw, but gateway drugs are so _fun,"_ Stan whined. "But seriously, other than being a pain in the ass, I don't think your mom's our biggest issue. I think the first thing we need to worry about is what we're gonna do on Monday."

"That's my point," Kyle said. "My mom will probably be at the school. And she _might_ notice if I'm not there during her stand against drug abuse and I'm not sure how I'm gonna explain that I skipped her soapbox moment to babysit a fucking druggie—again, no offense, Kenny." Kenny gave a thumbs-up as he clutched his bucket and dry heaved.

"So go to school," Stan reasoned. "Butters and I can stay with Kenny and then you can take a shift when you get back."

"Guys, you should all go to school," Kenny said weakly. "Seriously, I'm a lot better now, I can handle myself for a few hours. You can't miss class."

"Since when do care so much about our education?" Kyle asked skeptically.

"I don't," he snapped. "But you guys do. And Butters' parents are gonna flip—"

"Dude we're not leaving you alone."

"No fucking way."

"Yeah, Kenny, you're ain't even foolin' _me_ with that one." Kenny groaned and leaned against the wall.

Kyle sighed. "Come on, get up." He walked over and started pullin' Kenny up by the wrist. He moaned in protest. "You have to stay active, dude."

"But I'm _sick_."

"And if you suddenly found twenty bucks on the floor? How sick would you feel racing into Denver to get a fix?" Kenny pondered this for a moment, then shrugged. "Come on, fifty jumping jacks—go!"

Sunday passed by in about the same fashion that Saturday did. It was a slow, painful process. I couldn't begin to imagine how much worse it was for Kenny. But the air seemed to get a little bit easier to breathe as the day went on. Every passin' hour was another accomplishment.

"Nine o'clock, Ken! That makes it ninety hours!" I exclaimed, pattin' his shoulder and smilin' real big.

"Do I get a metal?" He droned sarcastically. I rolled my eyes.

"You're over the hump, dude, for sure," Stan added, ignoring Kenny's comment. "That's saying something. Not many people can do that."

"Heh. _Hump._" Kyle glanced at Stan and they both broke into big ol' smiles.

"He's back!" They said in unison, Kyle pumpin' a fist in the air. I smiled and gave Kenny a one-armed hug.

"Seriously, though, where's my reward, assholes?" He looked real serious. "Come on, ninety hours in I don't even get a congratulatory blowjob?" Stan snickered and I blushed, pullin' my arm back to myself. "Technically, you keep going on about exercise and distractions…I don't know Kyle, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were hitting on me."

"He's definitely back," Stan muttered. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Keep dreaming, perv," he shot back.

"In all honesty, that would probably be a good distraction," Stan said thoughtfully. The three of us stared at him, wide-eyed. He caught sight of us and snorted. "I'm not _volunteering_. I'm just saying it makes sense."

"Of course it makes sense," Kenny retorted. "Y'all think I'm goofing around, I'm dead serious."

"Well, I'm not gonna say anything, but…" Kyle trailed off, glancin' in my direction. I furrowed my brow in confusion.

"What?" Stan and Kyle exchanged another look.

"Nothing," Stan answered. Kenny groaned again and started massagin' his temples.

"I mean it's all in the name of helping a friend, right?" Kyle started.

"What is?"

"Yeah, doesn't have to be more than that," Stan continued. Oh boy, another one of their rousing Stan-and-Kyle secret conversations right in front of me.

"It could really lift his spirits."

"And, you know, something else too…"

"What are you fellas talkin' 'bout?"

"It's a medical procedure, really."

"Alternative therapy."

"Purely out of the goodness of our hearts—"

"Fellas, I really don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."

"It's in everyone's best interests, I suppose."

"_What_ is?" They finally turned to look at me.

Déjà vu.

"We're just gonna leave you two alone," Kyle said.

"We'll be back in—" Stan checked his watch. "—eh, what do you think, about half an hour?"

"Yeah just hang a sock on the door if you're gonna be any longer."

"_Assholes_," Kenny muttered half-heartedly.

"What are you _talkin'_ 'bout?" I whined.

"Helping Kenny, of course," Kyle said simply.

"That _is_ what you want to do, right?"

"Well, sure, I wanna help Kenny!"

"Alright, then," Stan said, standin' up and stretchin'. "Hey do you think Shakey's is still open?" he asked Kyle, who shrugged.

"You two have fun!" Kyle called as he and Stan trotted out the door, locking it behind them.

They left behind a resoundin' silence and the scent of day old cologne. I turned to Kenny, bewildered. "I swear," I told him, shakin' my head. "I never understand a gosh-darn word they say when they get like that."

He snickered. "I count being fluent in Stan-and-Kyle-ese as one of my most valuable skills."

"Well, you're gonna have to teach me, 'cause it's gettin' down right annoyin', it is!" He chuckled again and then threw me a quick wink.

"I'll teach you anything you wanna know, Butters."

**Stan and Kyle are the worst. But they make for great comic relief. **** Keep those lovely reviews coming, I appreciate every single one so much!**


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